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,
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
The stir and workings of that love for you
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
Which he has toil'd to smother, "T was not well, My Lord, my husband's name
Nor is it grateful in you to forget
Is Isidore. (ORDONIO starts.)-You may remember it:
Three years ago, three years this very week, You left him at Almeria.
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!
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 TERESA).
O gentle lady! make the father stay,
Until my Lord recover. I am sure,
That he will say he is my husband's friend.
Stay, father! stay! my Lord will soon recover.
ORDONIO (as they return, to VALDEZ).
Strange, that this Monviedro
Should have the power so to distemper me!
Nay, 't was an amiable weakness, son!
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.
I hope, my Lord, your merely human pity Doth not prevail
"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:
Myself I'll sift him: if I find him sound,
You'll grant me your authority and name
To liberate his house.
Your zeal, my Lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare, Would authorize an ampler trust-you have it.
I will attend you home within an hour.
Meantime, return with us and take refreshment.
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,
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,
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.
You are lost in thought: hear him no more, sweet Lady!
From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, And slight things bring on me the idle mood! Well, Sir, what happen'd then?
A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs, Whose thready leaves to the low-breathing gale Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean,
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,
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
That woods, and sky, and mountains, seem'd one Received my last kiss, when with suppress'd feelings
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 !
TERESA (shuddering).
A fearful curse!
ALHADRA (fiercely).
But dreamt you not that you return'd and kill'd them?
Dreamt you of no revenge ?
ALVAR (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress).
She would have died,
Died in her guilt-perchance by her own hands!
And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds,
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!
My soul is full of visions all as wild!
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.
"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!
How bad 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?
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.
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
In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer.
She hath no faith in Holy Church, 'tis 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-
Where lies your scruple ?
Had loved you with incautious tenderness;
ISIDORE (with stammering).
You know you told me that the lady loved you,
That if the young man, her betrothed husband,
ORDONIO (sighing, as if lost in thought).
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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