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you, lady?




Three years ago, three years this very week,

You left him at Almeria.

Not till my husband's free! I may not do it

I will stay here.
Palpably false!

TERESA (aside).
This very week, three years ago, my Lord

Who is this Isidore ? (You needs must recollect it by your wound), You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates,

Daughter! The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar!

(TERESA looks al MONVIEDRO wilh disgust and with your permission, my dear Lord,
horror. Ordonio's appearance to be collected I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze.
from what follows.

[Exeunt VALDEZ, MONVIEDRO, and ORDONIO MONVIEDRO (10 VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO). Hah! there he goes! a bitter curse go with him, What! is he ill, my Lord ? how strange he looks !

A scathing curse!
VALDEZ (angrily).

(Then as if recollecting herself, and with a timid look) You press’d upon him too abruptly, father,

You hate him, don't The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted.

TERESA (perceiving that ALHADRA is conscious she has ORDONIO (starting as in sudden agitation).

spoken imprudently). O Heavens! I? I-doted ? (then recovering himself). Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you.

Yes! I doted on him. [ORDONIO walks to

end of the stage. These fell inquisitors ! these sons of blood ! VALDEZ follows, soolhing him.

As I came on, his face so madden'd me,
TERESA (her eye following ORDONIO). That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger
I do not, can not, love him. Is my heart hard ?

And half unsheathed it-
Is my heart hard ? that even now the thought
Should force itself upon me?-Yet I feel it!

Be more calm, I pray you
The drops did start and stand upon his forehead !

And as he walked along the narrow path I will return. In very truth, I grieve To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman! Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager;

'T was with hard toil I made myself remember ALHADRA (to TERESA).

That his Familiars held my babes and husband. O gentle lady! make the father stay,

To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge, Until my Lord recover. I am sure,

And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, That he will say he is my husband's friend.

O, it had been most sweet! Stay, father! stay! my Lord will soon recover.

Hush! hush for shame! ORDONIO (as they return, to VALDEZ) Where is your woman's heart? Strange, that this Monviedro Should have the power so to distemper me !

O gentle lady!

You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son !

Many and strange! Besides (ironically), I am a Chris MONVIEDRO.

tian, My Lord, I truly grieve

And Christians never pardon—'tis their faith!

Tut! name it not.

Shame fall on those who so have shown it to thee! A sudden seizure, father! think not of it.

ALHADRA. As to this woman's husband, I do know him.

I know that man ; 'tis well he knows not me. I know him well, and that he is a Christian.


Five years ago (and he was the prime agent),

Five years ago the holy brethren seized me.
I hope, my Lord, your merely human pily
Doth not prevail-

What might your crime be?

"Tis certain that he was a Catholic;
What changes may have happen'd in three years,

I was a Moresco! I cannot say ; but grant me this, good father :

They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Myself I'll sist him: if I find him sound,

Into a dungeon of their prison-house,

Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light,
You'll grant me your authority and name
To liberate his house.

No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air,

It was a toil to breathe it! when the door,
Your zeal, my Lord,

Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed

One human countenance, the lamp's red flame And your late merits in this holy warfare,

Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down. Would authorize an ampler trust—you have it

Oh miserable! by that lamp to see

My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread I will attend you home within an hour.

Brought daily : for the little wretch was sicklyVALDEZ.

My rage had dried away its natural foou Meantime, return with us and take refreshment. 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, If aught enforce you to concealment, Sir-
My insaut's moanings mingled with my slumbers
And waked me. If you were a mother, Lady, He trembles strangely.
I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises

[Alvar sinks down and hides his face in his robe. And peevish cries so fretted on my brain

TERESA. That I have struck the innocent babe in anger.

See, we have disturb'd him.

[Approaches nearer to him. 0 Heaven! it is too horrible to hear.

I pray you think us friends—uncowl your face.

For you seem faint, and the night breeze blows healing What was it then to suffer ? "Tis most right I pray you think us friends! That such as you should hear it.—Know you not,

ALVAR (raising his head).
What Nature makes you mourn, she bids you heal ?

Calm, very calm!
Great Evils ask great Passions to redress them, "Tis all too tranquil for reality!
And Whirlwinds fitliest scatter Pestilence.

And she spoke to me with her innocent voice,

That voice, that innocent voice! She is no traitress ,
You were at length released ?

Let us retire. (Haughtily 10 ALHADRA).
Yes, at length

[They advance to the front of the Stage. I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven!

ALHADRA (with scorn). "T was the first time my infant smiled. No more

He is indeed a Christian. For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady,

ALVAR (aside). A trance comes on which makes me o'er again

She deems me dead, yet wears no mourning gannent! All I then was—my knees hang loose and drag,

Why should my brother's wife--wear mourning And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh,

garments ? That you would start and shudder!

Your pardon, noble dame! that I disturb'd you :

I had just started from a frightful dream.


A month's imprisonment would kill him, Lady.

Dreams tell but of the Past, and yet, 't is said,
They prophesy,

Alas, poor man!

The Past lives o'er again
He hath a lion's courage,

In its effects, and to the guilty spirit
Fearless in act, but reelle in endurance;

The ever-frowning Present is its image. Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart

TERESA. He worships Nature in the hill ana valley,

Traitress! (Then aside). Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all

What sudden spell o'ermasters me?

Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman? Enler Alvak disguised as a MORESCO, and in Moorish [TERESA looks round uneasily, but gradually be garments.

comes attentive as Alvar proceeds in the

next speech. TERESA

Know you that stately Moor?

I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant

With blindest trust, and a betrothed maid,
I know him not:

Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me:
But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain,

For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her. Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras.

This maid so idolized that trusted friend

Dishonor’d in my absence, soul and body!
The Alpuxarras ? Does he know his danger, Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt,
So near this seat ?

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, As in defiance of the royal edict.

Even in the assassins' hearts! they made their terms (ALHADRA advances to Alvar, who has walked 10 And thank'd me for redeeming them from murder. the back of the stage near the rocks. TERESA

ALHADRA. drops her veil.

You are lost in thought: hear him no more, sweet Lady! ALHADRA Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred 10 our race

From morn to night I am myself a dreamer,

And slight things bring on me the idle mood !
ALVAR (interrupting her).

Well, Sir, what happen'd then?
You have mistaken me. I am a Christian.


On a rude rock, He deeme, that we are plotting to ensnare him: A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs, Speak to him, Lady—none can hear you speak, Whose thready leaves to the low breathing gale And not believe you innocent of guile.

Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean,






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I stay'd as though the hour of death were pass'd, No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience!
And I were sitting in the world of spirits

And she referr'd to me-fondly, methought!
For all things seem'd unreal! There I sate-

Could she walk here if she had been a traitress ? The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, Here, where we play'd together in our childhood! Black, sultry, close! and ere the midnight hour, Here, where we plighted vows?' where her cold A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear,

cheek That woods, and sky, and mountains, seem'd one Received my last kiss, when with suppress'd feeling havoc.

She had fainted in iny arms? It cannot be!
The second flash of lightning show'd a tree 'Tis not in Nature! I will die, believing
Hard by me, newly scathed. I rose tumultuous : That I shall meet her where no evil is,
My soul work'd high, I bared my head to the storm, No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips.
And, with loud voice and clamorous agony, I'll haunt this scene no more! live she in peace!
Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that made me, Her husband—ay, her husband! May this angel
Pray'd that REMORSE might fasten on their hearts, New mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, Heaven,
And cling with poisonous tooth, inextricable That I may pray for my poor guilty brother! (Eril
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?

A wild and mountainous Country. ORDONIO and IsiALVAR (his voice trembling, and in tonesof deep distress). DORE are discovered, supposed at a little distance

She would have died, from ISIDORE's house. Died in her guilt-perchance by her own hands!

OR DONIO. And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds,

Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, I might have met the evil glance of frenzy,

Yet we secured from listeners.
And leapt myself into an unblest grave!
I pray'd for the punishment that cleanses hearts:
For still I loved her!

Now indeed
My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters

Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock,
And you dreamt all this?

That over-brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver!

Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle My soul is full of visions all as wild !

You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide, ALHADRA.

When for my follies I was made to wander, There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales.

With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them TERESA (lists up her veil, and advances to ALVAR).

Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones
Stranger, farewell! I guess not who you are,

Had been my bed and pillow.
Nor why you so address'd your tale to me.
Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplex'd me

Good Isidore !
With obscure memory of something past,

Why this to me? It is enough, you know it
Which still escaped my efforts, or presented
Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with long wishing.

A common trick of Gratitude, my Lord,
If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling

Seeking to ease her own full heart-
Whilst your full heart was shaping out its dream,
Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness-
You have my sympathy, and so farewell'

Enough But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you,

A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. And you need strength to drag them into light,

You have it in your power to serve me greatly. The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer;

And how, my Lord ? I pray you to name the thing. Nor shall you want my favorable pleading. I would climb up an ice-glaz'd precipice [Exeunt TERESA and Alhadra. To pluck a weed you fancied !

ORDONIO (with embarrassment and hesitation). ALVAR (alone). 'Tis strange! It cannot be! my Lord Ordonio!

Why—thalLady Her Lord Ordonio! Nay, I will not do it! I cursed him once-and one curse is enough!

"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!

ORDONIO. If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice,

O miserable

(Aside Hell scarce were Ilell. And why not innocent ? Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind. Who meant to murder me, might well cheat her? I told you what I wish'd—now for the truth But ere she married him, he had stain'd her honor; She lov'd the man you kill'd. Ah! there I am hamper’d. What if this were a lie ISIDORE (looking as suddenly alarmer). Framed by the assassin ? Who should tell it him,

You jest, my Lord? If it were truth? Ordonio would not tell him.

ORDONIO. Yet why one lie? all else, I know, was truth. And till his death is proved, she will not wed me.












You sport with me, my Lord ?

My Lord—my Lord,

I can bear much-yes, very much from you! Come, come! this foolery But there's a point where sufferance is meanness : lives only in thy looks: thy heart disowns it! I am no villain-never kill'd for hire

My gratitude

I can bear this, and any thing more grievous
From you, my Lord—but how can I serve you here ? "T was a well-sounding word—what have you done

O ay—your gratitude !

with it?
Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture
Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning,

Who proffers his past favors for my virtueWcar a quaint garment, make mysterious antics—

ORDONIO (with biller scorn).

Virtue! I am dull, my Lord! I do not comprehend you.


Tries to o'erreach me--is a very sharper,

And should not speak of gratitude, my Lord.
In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer.

I knew not 't was your brother!
She hath no faith in Holy Church, 't is true :
Her lover schoold her in some newer nonsense!

O'RDONIO (alarmed).
Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her.

And who told you ? She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye:

He himself told me.

And such do love the marvellous too well
Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy

Ha! you talk'd with him!

And those, the two Morescoes who were with you ? With a strange music, that she knows not of With fumes of frankincense, and mummery, Then leave, as one sure token of his death, Both fell in a night-brawl at Malaga. That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck

ORDONIO (in a low voice). I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.

My brother







Will that be a sure sign?

Yes, my Lord, I could not tell you !

I thrust away the thought-it drove me wild.
Beyond suspicion.

But listen to me now, I pray you listen-
Fondly caressing him, her favor'd lover

OR DONIO. (By some base spell he had bewitch'd her senses), Villain! no more! I'll hear no more of it. She whisper'd such dark fears of me, forsooth,

ISIDORE. As made this heart pour gall into my veins.

My Lord, it much imports your future safety
And as she coyly bound it round his neck,

That you should hear it.
She made him promise silence; and now holds
The secret of the existence of this portrait,

ORDON10 (turning off from ISIDORE.)

Am not I a Man! Known only to her lover and herself.

"Tis as it should be! tut-the deed itself
But I had traced her, stolen unnoticed on them,
And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.

Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler!
But now I should have cursed the man who told me

We met him in the very place you mention'd.
You could ask aught, my Lord, and I refuse-

Hard by a grove of firs—
But this I cannot do.


Where lies your scruple?

ISIDORE (with stammering).

He fought us valiantly, and wounded all;

Why-why, my Lord ! In fine, compellid a parley. You know you told me that the lady loved you,

ORDONIO (sighing, as if lost in thought).
Had loved you with incautious tenderness;

Alvar! brother!
That if the young man, her betrothed husband,
Returned, yourself, and she, and the honor of both He offer'd me his purse
Must perish. Now, though with no tenderer scruples

ORDONIO (with eager suspicion).
Than those which being native to the heart,

Than those, my Lord, which merely being

ISIDORE (indignantly).
ORDONIO (aloud, though to erpress his contempl

Yes--I spurn'd it.he speaks in the third person).

He promised us I know not what-in vain! This fellow is a Man-he kill'd for hire

Then with a look and voice that overawed me, One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples ! He said, What mean you, friends ? My life is dear :

[Then turning to Isidore. I have a brother and a promised wife, These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammer- Who make life dear to me—and if I fall, ing

That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance. Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt, There was a likeness in his face to yours • Spelling thy villany.

I ask'd his brother's name: he said-Ordonio,




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(A pause.



Son of Lord Valdez! I had well-nigh fainted.
At length I said (if that indeed I said it,

Doubtiess you question’d him?
And that no Spirit made my tongue its organ),
That woman is dishonor'd by that brother,

"T was my intentica
And he the man who sent us to destroy you. Having first traced him homeward to hus haunt.
He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him, But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies
He wore her portrait round his neck. He look'd

Lurk everywhere, already (as it seemd) As he had been made of the rock that propt his Had given commission to his apt familiar back

To seek and sound the Moor ; who now returning Ay, just as you look now

w-only less ghastly! Was by this trusty agent stopp'd midway.
At lengih, recovering from his trance, he threw I, dreading fresh suspicion is found near him
His sword away, and bade us take his life, In that lone place, again concealed myself,
It was not worth his keeping.

Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd,

And in your name, as lord of this domain.

And you kill'd him ? Proudly he answer'd, “Say to the Lord Ordonio, Oh blood-hounds! may eternal wrath flame round He that can bring the dead to life again!" you!

He was his Maker's Image undefaced ! (A pause. A strange reply!
It seizes me-by Hell, I will go on!
What wouldst thou stop, man? thy pale looks won't

Ay, all of him is strange.
save thee!

(A parise. He call'd himself a Christian, yet he wears Oh cold-cold-cold! shot through with icy cold!

The Moorish robes, as if he courted death.
ISIDORE (aside).

Were he alive, he had return'd ere now-

Where does this wizard live? The consequence the same-dead through his plotting!

ISIDORE (pointing to the distance).

You see that brouklet ORDONIO. O this unutterable dying away-here

Trace its course backward: through a narrow opening This sickness of the heart!

It leads you to the place.

What if I went
And lived in a hollow torb, and sed on weeds?

How shall I know it?
Ay! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool!

(A pause. You cannot err. It is a small green dell What have I done but that which nature destined,

Built all around with high off-sloping hills, Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me? And from its shape our peasants aptly call it Jf good were meant, why were we made these Be- The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, ings?

And round its banks tall wood that branches over, And if not meant

And makes a kind of faery forest grow

Down in the water. At the further end
You are disturb’d, my Lord! A puny cataract falls on the lake;
ORDONIO (slarts, looks at him wildly; then, after a And there, a curious sight! you see its shadow

pause, during which his features are forced into For ever curling like a wreath of smoke,
a smile).

Up through the foliage of those faery trees. A gust of the soul! i' faith, it overset me.

His cot stands opposite. You cannot miss it O't was all folly—all ! idle as laughter!

ORDONIO (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of the Now, Isidore! I swear that thou shalt aid me.

scene, and then turning round to ISIDORE). ISIDORE (in a low voice).

Ha Who lurks there? Have we been overheard ! I'll perish first!

There, where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glit-
What dost thou mutter of?

'Neath those tall stones, which, propping each the Some of your servants know me, I am certain


Form a mock portal with their pointed arch! There's some sense in that scruple ; but we'll mask Pardon my smiles! "T is a poor Idiot Boy,

Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about, you.

His weak eyes seethed in most unmeaning tears They'll know my gait: but stay! last night I watch'd And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head: A stranger near the ruin in the wood,

And, staring at his bough from morn to sun-se, Who as it seem'd was gathering herbs and wild flow-See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises ! I had follow'd him at distance, seen him scale 'Tis well ! and now for this same Wizard's Lair. Its western wall, and by an easier entrance Stole after him unnoticed. There I mark'd, Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash That, 'mid the chequer-work of light and shade, Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters With curious choice he pluck'd no other flowers O'er the old thatch. But those on which the moonlight fell: and once I heard him mutiering o'er the plant. A wizard

I shall not fail to find it. Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment











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