Remorse: a Tragedy, in Five Acts/Act 2
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A wild and mountainous Country. Ordonio and Isidore are discovered, supposed at a little distance from Isidore's house.
Ord.Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners.
Isid.Now indeed My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on you vine-clad rock, That over brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver! Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide, When for my follics 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 been ny bed and pillow.
Ord.Good Isidore! Why this to me? It is enough, you know it.
Isid.A common trick of gratitude, my lord, Seeking to ease her own full heart———
Ord.Enough!A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. You have it in your power to serve me greatly.
Isid.And how, my lord? I pray you name the thing. I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice To pluck a weed you fancied!
Ord. (with embarrassment and hesitation.)Why—that—Lady—
Isid.'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I saw you:Have you a son, my lord?
Ord. (aside.)O miserable—Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind.I told you what I wish'd—now for the truth—She loved the man you kill'd.
Isid. (looking as suddenly alarmed.) You jest, my lord?
Ord.And till his death is proved she will not wed me.
Isid.You sport with me, my lord?
Ord.Come, come! this fooleryLives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it!
Isid.I can bear this, and any thing more grievousFrom you, my lord—but how can I serve you here?
Ord.Why you can utter with a solemn gestureOracular sentences of deep no-meaning,Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics—
Isid.I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you.
Ord.In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer.She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true,Her lover schools her in some newer nonsense.Yet still a tale of spirits works on her.She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive,Shivers, and can not keep the tears in her eye:And such do love the marvellous too wellNot to believe it. We will wind up her fancyWith a strange music, that she knows not of—With fumes of frankinsense, and mummery,Then leave, as one sure token of his death,That portrait, which from off the dead man's neckI bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.
Isid.Will that be a sure sign?
Ord.Beyond suspicion.Fondly caressing him, her favor'd lover,(By some base spell he had bewitch'd her senses)She whisper'd such dark fears of me forsooth,As made this heart pour gall into my veins.And as she coyly bound it round his neck,She made him promise silence; and now holdsThe secret of the existence of this portraitKnown only to her lover and herself.But I had traced her, stoln unnoticed on them,And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.
Isid.But now I should have cursed the man who told meYou could ask ought, my lord, and I refuse—But this I can not do.
Ord.Where lies your scruple?
Isid. (with stammering.) Why—why, my lord,You know you told me that the lady loved you,Had loved you with incautious tenderness ;—That if the young man, her betrothed husband,Returned, yourself, and she, and the honor of both,Must perish. Now, tho' with no tenderer scruplesThan those which being native to the heart—Than those, my lord, which merely being a man—
Ord. (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person.)This fellow is a man, he kill'd for hireOne whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples!(then turning to Isidore)Those doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering—Pish, fool! thou blunder'st thro' the book of guilt,Spelling thy villainy———
Isid.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———
Ord.O aye—your gratitude!'Twas a well sounding word—what have you done with it?
Isid.Who proffers his past favors for my virtue—
Ord. (with bitter scorn.)Virtue———
Isid.Tries to o'erreach me—is a very sharper,And should not speak of gratitude, my lord.I knew not 'twas your brother!
Ord. (alarmed.)And who told you?
Isid.He himself told me.
Ord.Ha! you talk'd with him?And these, the two Morescoes whow ere with you?
Isid.Both fell in a night brawl at Malaga.
Ord. (in a low voice.)My brother—
Isid. 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———
Ord.Villain! no more. I'll hear no more of it.
Isid. My lord, it much imports your future safetyThat you should hear it.Ord, (turning off from Isidore.)Am I not a man?'Tis as it should be! tut—the deed itselfWas idle, and these after-pangs still idler!
Isid.We met him in the very place you mentioned,Hard by a grove of firs———
Ord.Enough—enough—
Isid.He fought us valiantly, and wounded all;In fine, compell'd a parley—
Ord. (sighing as if lost in thought.)Alvar! brother!
Isid.He offer'd me his purse—
Ord.Yes?
Isid.Yes—I spurn'd it.He promised us I know not what—in vain!Then with a look and voice which overawed me,He said, What mean you, friends? My life is dear:I have a brother and a promised wife,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—Ordonio,Son of lord Valdez! 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 dishonor'd by that brother,And he the man who sent us to destroy you.He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told himHe wore her portrait round his neck.—He look'dAs he had been made of the rock that propt his back—Aye, just as you look now—only less ghastly!At length recovering from his trance, he threwHis sword away, and bade us take his life—It was not worth his keeping.
Ord.And you kill'd him?Oh 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!
Oh cold—cold—cold! shot thro' with icy cold!
Isid. (aside.)Were he alive he had return'd ere now—The consequence the same—dead thro' his plotting!
Ord.O this unutterable dying away—here—This sickness of the heart!(a pause What if I wentAnd liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds?Aye that's the road to heaven!(a pause.)O fool! fool! fool!What have I done but that which nature destin'd,Or the blind clements stirr'd up within me?If good were meant, why were we made these beings?And if not meant—
Isid.You are disturb'd, my lord!
Ord. (starts, looks at him wildly; then, after a pause during which his features are forced into a smile)A gust of the soul! i'faith, it overset me.O'twas all folly—all! idle as laughter!Now, Isidore! I swear that thou shalt aid me.
Isid. (in a low voice) I'll perish first!
Ord.What dost thou mutter of?
Isid.Some of your servants know me, I am certain.
Ord.There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll ask you.
Isid.They'll know my gait but stay! last night I watch'dA stranger near the ruin in the wood,Who as it seem'd was gathering herbs and wild flowers.I had follow'd him at distance, seen him scaleIts western wall, and by an easier entranceStoln after him unnoticed. There I markedThat mid the chequer work of light and shade,With curious choice he pluck'd no other flowersBnt those on which the moonlight fell: and onceI heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizzard—Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment.
Ord.Doubtless you question'd him?
Isid.'Twas my intention,Having first traced him homeward to his haunt.But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spiesLurk every where, already (as it seem'd)Had given commission to his apt familiarTo seek and sound the Moor; who now returning,Was by this trusty agent stopp'd midway.I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near himIn that lone place, again conceal'd myself:Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd,And in your name, as lord of this domain.Proudly he answer'd, Say to the lord Ordonio,"He that can bring the dead to life again!"
Ord.A strange reply!
Isid.Aye, all of him is strange.He call'd himself a christian, yet he wearsThe Moorish robes, as if he courted death.
Ord.Where does this wizzard live?
Isid. (pointing to the distance.)You see that brooklet?Trace its course backward: thro' a narrow openingIt leads you to the place.
Ord.How shall I know it?
Isid.You cannot err. It is a small green dellBuilt all around with high off sloping hills,And from its shape our peasants aptly call itThe 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 growDown in the water. At the further endΛ puny cataract falls on the lake:And there, a curious sight! you see its shadowFor ever curling, like a wreath of smoke,Up thro' the foliage of those faery trees.His cot stands opposite. You can not miss it.Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clustersO'er the old thatch.
Ord.I shall not fail to find it.[Exit Ordonio. Isidore goes into his cottage.
SCENE II.
The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers Alvar, Zulimez and Alhadra, as on the point of leaving.
Alhad. (addressing Alvar.)Farewell then! and tho' many thoughts perplex me,Aught evil or ignoble never can ISuspect of thee! If what thou seem'st thou art,The oppressed brethren of thy blood have needOf such a leader.
Alv.Nobly-minded woman!Long time against oppression have I fought,And for the native liberty of faith,Have bled and suffer'd bonds. Of this be certain,Time, as he courses onwards, still unrollsThe volume of Concealment. In the Future,As in the optician's glassy cylinder,The indistinguishable blots and colorsOf the dim Past collect and shape themselves,Upstarting in their own completed image,To scare or to reward.I sought the guilty,And what I sought I found: but ere the spearFlew from my hand, there rose an angel formBetwixt me and my aim. With baffled purposeTo the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart!Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee:For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble.[Exit Alhadra.Once more farewell.Yes, to the Belgic statesWe will return. These robes, this stain'd complexion,Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit.Whate'er befall us, the heroic MauriceWill grant us an asylum, in remembranceOf our past services.
Zul. And all the wealth, power, influence which is yours,You let a murderer hold?
Alv.O faithful Zulimez!That my return involved Ordonio's death,I trust, would give me an unmingled pang,Yet bearable:—but when I see my fatherStrewing his scant grey hairs, e'en on the ground,Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa―Her husband proved a murderer, and her infantsHis infants—poor Teresa!—all would perish,All perish—all! and I (nay bear with me)Could not survive the complicated ruin!
Zul. (much affected.)Nay now! 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 liveOn the blank canvas; and each little herb,That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest,You have learnt to name———Hark! heard you not some footsteps?
Alv. What if it were my brother coming onwards!I sent a most mysterious message to him.
Enter Ordonio.
Alv. (starting.) It is he!
Ord. (to himself as he enters.)If I distinguish'd right her gait, and stature,It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife,That pass'd me as I enter'd. A lit taper,In the night air, doth not more naturallyAttract the night flies round it, than a conjurorDraws round him the whole female neighbourhood.(addressing Alvar.You know my name, I guess, if not my person.I am Ordonio, son of the lord Valdez.
Alv. (with deep emotion.) The son of Valdez!
[Ordonio walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants.
Zul. (to Alvar.) Why what ails you now?.How your hand trembles! Alvar, speak! what wish you?
Alv.To fall upon his neck and weep forgiveness!
Ord. (returning, and aloud.)Pluck'd in the moonlight from a ruin'd abbey—Those only, which the pale rays visited!O the unintelligible power of 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 worksSome serviceable imp.—There's one of youWho sent me a strange message.
Alv.I am he.
Ord.With you, then, I am to speak.[Haughtily waving his hand to Zulimez.[Exit Zulimez.And mark you, alone."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!
Alv. 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds,That are all dust and rottenness within.Would'st thou I should strip such?
Ord.Thou quibbling fool,What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journey'd hither,To sport with thee?
Alv.O no, my lord! to sportBest suits the gaiety of innocence.
Ord. (aside.)O what a thing is man! the wisest heartA Fool! a Fool that laughs at its own folly,(Looks round the cottage.Yet still a Fool!You are poor!
Alv.What follows thence?
Ord.That you would fain be richer.The inquisition, too—You comprehend me?You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power,Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty:And for the boon I ask of you but this,That you should serve me—once—for a few hours.
Alv. (solemnly.)Thou art the son of Valdez! would to HeavenThat I could truly and for ever serve thee.
Ord. (aside.) The slave begins to soften.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!
Alv. (aside.)Alas! this hollow mirth—Declare your business.
Ord.I love a lady, and she would love meBut for an idle and fantastic scruple. Have you no servants here, no listeners?[Ordonio steps to the door.
Alv.What faithless, too? False to his angel wife?To such a wife? Well might'st thou look so wan,Ill star'd Teresa!———Wretch! my softer soulIs pass'd away and I will probe his conscience!
Ord.In truth this lady lov'd another man,But he has perish'd.
Alv.What! you kill'd him? hey?
Ord.I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it!Insolent slave! how dar'dst thou—(turns abruptly from Alvar, and then to himself.) Why! what's this?'Twas idiotcy! I'll tie myself to an aspen,And wear a fool's cap—
Alv. (watching his agitation.) Fare thee well—I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish.[Alvar retires to the back of the stage.
Ord. (having recovered himself).Ilo! (calling to Alvar).
Alv.Be brief, what wish you?
Ord. You are deep at bartering—You charge yourselfAt a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely.
Alv.I listen to you.
Ord.In a sudden tempest,Did Alvar perish—he, I mean—the lover—The fellow.
Alv.Nay, speak out, 'twill ease your heartTo call him villain!—Why stand'st thou aghast?Men think it natural to hate their rivals.
Ord. (hesitating.)Now, till she knows him dead, she will not wed me.
Alv. (with eager vehemence.)Are you not wedded then? Merciful Heaven! Not wedded to Teresa?
Ord.Why what ails thee?What, art thou mad? why look'st thou upward so?Dost pray to Lucifer, Prince of the Air?Alv. (recollecting himself).Proceed. I shall be silent. (Alvar sits, and leaning on the table, hides his face)
Ord.To Teresa?Politic wizzard! ere you sent that message,You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficientIn all my fortunes. Hah! you prophesied,A golden crop! Well, you have not mistaken—Be faithful to me and I'll pay thee nobly.
Alv. (lifting up his head).Well! and this lady!
Ord.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.
Alv. (sighing).Yes! he did so!
Ord. 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.
Alv.What he was your friend then?
Ord. (wounded and embarrassed)I was his friend.—Now that he gave it me,This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizzard—Can call the dead man up—he will not come.—He is in Heaven then—there you have no influence.Still there are tokens—and your imps may bring youSomething he wore about him when he died.And when the smoke of the incense on the altar,Is pass'd; your spirits can have left this picture.What say you now?
Alv. (after a pause) Ordonio, I will do it.
Ord.We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night,In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Valdez.I will prepare him. Music too, and incense,(For I have arranged it—Music, Altar, Incense)All shall be ready. Here is this same picture,And here, what you will value more, a purse.Come early for your magic ceremonies.
Alv.I will not fail to meet you.
Ord.Till next we meet, farewell![Exit Ordonio. Alv. (alone, indignantly flings the purse away, and gazes passionately at the portrait).And I did curse thee?At midnight? on my knees: and I believedThee perjur'd, thee a traitress! thee dishonor'd?O blind and credulous fool! O guilt of folly!Should not thy inarticulate fondnesses,Thy infant Loves—should not thy maiden VowsHave 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 pollution of thee!
I am unworthy of thy love, Teresa,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.
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 findA picture, which will wake the hell within him,And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience.[Exit. END OF THE SECOND ACT.