Remorse: a Tragedy, in Five Acts/Act 3

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Act II.

Remorse: a Tragedy, in Five Acts
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Act III.

Act IV.

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4654020Remorse: a Tragedy, in Five Acts — Act III.Samuel Taylor Coleridge

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Hall of Armory, with an Altar at the back of the Stage. Soft Music from an Instrument of Glass or Steel.

Valdez, Ordonio, and Alvar in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered.

Ord.This was too melancholy, Father.

Vald.Nay,My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child.Once he was lost; and after weary searchWe found him in an open place in the wood,To which spot he had followed a blind boy,Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamoreSome strangely moving notes, and these, he said,Were taught him in a dream. Him we first sawStretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank:And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep,His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd meTo mark how he had fasten'd round the pipeA silver toy his grandam had late given hin.Methinks I see him now as he then look'd—Even so!—He had outgrown his infant dress,Yet still he wore it.

Alv.My tears must not flow!I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father!

Enter Teresa, and Attendants.

Ter.Lord Valdez, you have asked my presence here, And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me)My heart approves it not! 'tis mockery.

Ord.Believe you then no preternatural influence?Believe you not that spirits throng around us?

Ter.Say rather that I have imagin'd itA possible thing: and it has sooth'd my soulAs other fancies have; but ne'er seduced meTo traffick with the black and frenzied hopeThat the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard.(To Alvar) Stranger, I mourn and blush to see you here,On such employment! With far other thoughtsI left you.

Ord. (aside)Ha! he has been tampering with her?

Alv.O high-soul'd Maiden! and more dear to meThan suits the Stranger's name!I swear to theeI will uncover all concealed Guilt.Doubt, but decide not! Stand from off the altar.[Here a strain of music is heard from behind the scene.]

Alv.With no irreverent voice or uncouth charmI call up the Departed!Soul of Alvar!Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spell:So may the Gates of Paradise, unbarr'd,Cease thy swift toils! Since haply thou art oneOf that innumerable companyWho in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow,Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion,With noise too vast and constant to be heard:Fitliest unheard! For oh, ye numberless,And rapid Travellers! what ear unstunn'd,What sense unmadden'd, might bear up againstThe rushing of your congregated wings?[Music.] Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head![Music expressive of the movements and images that follow.] Ye as ye pass, toss high the desart Sands,That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters,A sweet appearance, but a dread illusionTo the parch'd caravan that roams by night!And ye build up on the becalmed wavesThat whirling pillar, which from Earth to HeavenStands vast, and moves in blackness! Ye too splitThe ice mount! and with fragments many and hugeTempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulphsSuck in, perchance, some Lapland wizzard's skiff!Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye dance,Till from the blue swoln Corse the Soul toils out,And joins your mighty Army.Soul of Alvar!Hear the mild spell, and tempt no blacker Charm!By sighs unquiet, and the sickly pangOf a half dead, yet still undying Hope,Pass visible before our mortal sense!So shall the Church's cleansing rites be, thine,Her knells and masses, that redeem the Dead!

SONG.Behind the Scenes, accompanied by the same Instrument as before.Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell,Lest a blacker charm compel!So shall the midnight breezes swellWith thy deep long lingering knell.

And at evening evermore,In a Chapel on the shore,Shall the Chaunters sad and saintly, Yellow tapers burning faintly,Doleful Masses chaunt for thee,Miserere Domine!

Hark! the cadence dies awayOn the yellow moonlight sea:The boatmen rest their oars and say,Miserere Domine![A long Pause.

Ord.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!

Alv.A joy to thee!What if thou heardst him now? What if his spiritRe-enter'd it's cold corse, and came upon theeWith many a stab from many a murderer's poniard?What if (his steadfast Eye still beaming PityAnd Brother's love) he turn'd his head aside,Lest he should look at thee, and with one lookHurl thee beyond all power of Penitence?

Vald.These are unholy fancies!

Ord. (Struggling with his feelings)Yes, my father,He is in Heaven!

Alv. (Still to Ordonio.)But what if he had a brother,Who had liv'd even so, that at his dying hour,The name of heaven would have convuls'd his face,More than the death-pang?

Val.Idly prating man!Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brotherStands here before thee—a father's blessing on him!He is most virtuous.

Alv. (Still to Ordonio)What, if his very virtues Had pamper'd his swoln heart and made him proud?And what if Pride had dup'd him into guilt?Yet still he stalk'd a self created God,Not very bold, but exquisitely cunning;And one that at his Mother's looking glassWould 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 loath 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 again].

Ter. 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures!But whatsoe'er it mean, I dare no longerBe present at these lawless mysteries,This dark Provoking of the Hidden Powers!Already I affront—if not high Heaven—Yet Alvar's Memory!—Hark! I make appealAgainst th' unholy rite, and hasten henceTo kneel before a lawful Shrine, and seekThat voice which whispers, when the still Heart listens,Comfort and faithful Hope! Let us retire.

Alv. (To Teresa anxiously).O full of faith and guileless love, thy SpiritStill prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guiltSurprise the guilty: thou art innocent![Exeunt Teresa and Attendant. (Music as before.)The spell is mutter'd—Come, thou wandering Shape,Who own'st no Master in an eye of flesh,Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it, or foul,If he be dead, O come! and bring with theeThat which he grasp'd in death! But if he lives,Some token of his obscure perilous life.[The whole Music clashes into a Chorus.

With other ministrations thou, O Nature!Heatest thy wand'ring 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 endureTo be a jarring and a dissonant thingAmid this general dance and minstrelsy;But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'dBy the benignant torch of love and beauty.

I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone,In that dark angle, the sole resting-place!But the self-approving mind is its own light,And life's best warmth still radiates from the heart,Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose.(Retires out of sight.

Enter Teresa with a Taper.

Ter.It has chill'd my very life-blood! my own voice scares me;Yet when I hear it not, I seem to loseThe substance of my being—my strongest graspSends inwards bat weak witness that I am.I seek to cheat the echo—How the half soundsBlend with this strangled light! Is he not here?As in a dream I ask; if it be a dream?(Looking round.)