Captured in sight of land!
From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower We might have seen-
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, His capture, not his death. But that he made appeal to you, my Lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Though lessen'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 honor The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevail'd with me that-
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 valor, And thus twice snatch'd a brother from his hopes: Gallant Ordonio! (pauses; then tenderly). O beloved
Wouldst thou best prove thy faith to generous Alvar, And most delight his spirit, go, make thou His brother happy, make his aged father Sink to the grave in joy.
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 timorons and tender flower, Closes beneath his touch.
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, "T was not well, Nor is it grateful in you to forget
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.
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 guarantee of a Moresco's faith! Now I return.
My Lord, my husband's name
Is Isidore. (ORDONIO starts.)-You may remember it:
Three years ago, three years this very week, You left him at Almeria.
MONVIEDRO.
Palpably false!
This very week, three years ago, my Lord (You needs must recollect it by your wound), You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar!
[TERESA looks at MONVIEDRO with disgust and horror. ORDONIO's appearance to be collected from what follows. MONVIEDRO (to VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO). What is he ill, my Lord? how strange he looks! VALDEZ (angrily).
You press'd upon him too abruptly, father, The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted.
ORDONIO (starting as in sudden agitation). O Heavens! I? I-doted? (then recovering himself). Yes! I doted on him.
[ORDONIO walks to the end of the stage, VALDEZ follows, soothing him.
TERESA (her eye following ORDONIO).
I do not, can not, love him. Is my heart hard? Is my heart hard? that even now the thought Should force itself upon me?-Yet I feel it!
I was a Moresco! They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison-house, Where 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! when the door, Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down. Oh 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 dried away its natural food. In darkness I remain'd-the dull bell counting,
Which haply told me, that all the all-cheering Sun Was rising on our garden. When I dozed, My infant's moanings mingled with my slumbers And waked 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.
O Heaven! it is too horrible to hear.
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.
You were at length released?
I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven!
"Tis all too tranquil for reality! And she spoke to me with her innocent voice, That voice, that innocent voice! She is no traitress! TERESA.
Let us retire. (Haughtily to ALHADRA).
[They advance to the front of the Stage. ALHADRA (with scorn).
Twas the first time my infant smiled. No more He is indeed a Christian.
For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady, A trance 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 idiot laugh, That you would start and shudder!
Know you that stately Moor?
I know him not: But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras.
She deems me dead, yet wears no mourning garment! Why should my brother's-wife-wear mourning garments?
[To TERESA. Your pardon, noble dame! that I disturb'd you: I had just started from a frightful dream.
I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant With blindest trust, and a betrothed maid, Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me: For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her. This maid so idolized that trusted friend Dishonor'd in my absence, soul and body! Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, And murderers were suborn'd against my life. But by my looks, and most impassion'd words, He wears the Moorish robes too, I roused the virtues that are dead in no man,
I stay'd as though the hour of death were pass'd, 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 havoc.
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!
There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales. TERESA (lifts up her veil, and advances to ALVAR). 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 escaped my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with-long wishing. If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling Whilst 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 Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer; Nor shall you want my favorable pleading.
[Exeunt TERESA and ALHADRA. ALVAR (alone).
"Tis strange! It cannot be! my Lord Ordonio! Her Lord Ordonio! Nay, I will not do it!
I cursed him once-and one curse is enough!
No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience! And she referr'd to me-fondly, methought! Could she walk here if she had been 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 feeling 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! [Exit.
'Tis now three years, my Lord, since last I saw you.
How bad she look'd, and pale! but not like guilt-Have you a son, my Lord?
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 honor; Ah! there I am hamper'd. What if this were a lie Framed by the assassin? Who should tell it him, If it were truth? Ordonio would not tell him. Yet why one lie? all else, I know, was truth.
O miserable- Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind. I told you what I wish'd-now for the truth!— She loy'd the man you kill'd.
ISIDORE (looking as suddenly alarmed). You jest, my Lord?
And till his death is proved, she will not wed me.
I can bear this, and any thing more grievous
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-
From you, my Lord-but how can I serve you here? "T was a well-sounding word-what.have you done
Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning,
Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics
I am dull, my Lord! I do not comprehend you.
In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. She hath no faith in Holy Church, 't is true: Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense! Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye: And such do love the marvellous too well Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy 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.
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――
Villain! no more! I'll hear no more of it.
My Lord, it much imports your future safety That you should hear it.
ORDONIO (turning off from ISIDORE.) Am not I a Man! "Tis as it should be! tut-the deed itself Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler!
We met him in the very place you mention'd. Hard by a grove of firs--
You know you told me that the lady loved you,
Had loved you with incautious tenderness;
That if the young man, her betrothed husband,
He fought us valiantly, and wounded all; In fine, compell'd a parley.
ORDONIO (sighing, as if lost in thought). Alvar! brother!
Returned, yourself, and she, and the honor of both He offer'd me his purse—
Must perish. Now, though with no tenderer scruples Than those which being native to the heart, Than those, my Lord, which merely being a man- ORDONIO (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 ISIDORE. These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammer- ing-
Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt, Spelling thy villany.
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