Act III, Scene VI
BUTLER and GORDON.
Gordon. What's this?
Butler. She has lost the man she lov'd-- Young Piccolomini, who fell in the battle.
Gordon. Unfortunate Lady!
Butler. You have heard what Illo Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerors, And marching hitherward.
Gordon. Too well I heard it. 5
Butler. They are twelve regiments strong, and there are five Close by us to protect the Duke. We have Only my single regiment; and the garrison Is not two hundred strong.
Gordon. 'Tis even so.
Butler. It is not possible with such small force 10 To hold in custody a man like him.
Gordon. I grant it.
Butler. Soon the numbers would disarm us. And liberate him.
Gordon. It were to be feared.
Butler (after a pause). Know, I am warranty for the event; With my head have I pledged myself for his, 15 Must make my word good, cost it what it will, And if alive we cannot hold him prisoner, Why--death makes all things certain!
Gordon. Butler! What? Do I understand you? Gracious God! You could--
Butler. He must not live.
Gordon. And you can do the deed! 20
Butler. Either you or I. This morning was his last.
Gordon. You would assassinate him.
Butler. 'Tis my purpose.
Gordon. Who leans with his whole confidence upon you!
Butler. Such is his evil destiny!
Gordon. Your General! The sacred person of your General! 25
Butler. My General he has been.
Gordon. That 'tis only A 'has been' washes out no villainy. And without judgment passed?
Butler. The execution Is here instead of judgment.
Gordon. This were murder, Not justice. The most guilty should be heard. 30
Butler. His guilt is clear, the Emperor has passed judgment, And we but execute his will.
Gordon. We should not Hurry to realize a bloody sentence. A word may be recalled, a life can never be.
Butler. Dispatch in service pleases sovereigns. 35
Gordon. No honest man's ambitious to press forward To the hangman's service.
Butler. And no brave man loses His colour at a daring enterprize.
Gordon. A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience.
Butler. What then? Shall he go forth anew to kindle 40 The unextinguishable flame of war?
Gordon. Seize him, and hold him prisoner--do not kill him.
Butler. Had not the Emperor's army been defeated, I might have done so.--But 'tis now past by.
Gordon. O, wherefore opened I the strong hold to him! 45
Butler. His destiny and not the place destroys him.
Gordon. Upon these ramparts, as beseemed a soldier, I had fallen, defending the Emperor's citadel!
Butler. Yes! and a thousand gallant men have perished.
Gordon. Doing their duty--that adorns the man! 50 But murder's a black deed, and nature curses it.
Butler (brings out a paper). Here is the manifesto which commands us To gain possession of his person. See-- It is addressed to you as well as me. Are you content to take the consequences, 55 If through our fault he escape to the enemy?
Gordon. I?--Gracious God!
Butler. Take it on yourself. Let come of it what may, on you I lay it.
Gordon. O God in heaven!
Butler. Can you advise aught else Wherewith to execute the Emperor's purpose? 60 Say if you can. For I desire his fall, Not his destruction.
Gordon. Merciful heaven! what must be I see as clear as you. Yet still the heart Within my bosom beats with other feelings!
Butler. Mine is of harder stuff! Necessity 65 In her rough school hath steeled me. And this Illo And Tertsky likewise, they must not survive him.
Gordon. I feel no pang for these. Their own bad hearts Impelled them, not the influence of the stars. 'Twas they who strewed the seeds of evil passions 70 In his calm breast, and with officious villainy Watered and nursed the pois'nous plants. May they Receive their earnests to the uttermost mite!
Butler. And their death shall precede his! We meant to have taken them alive this evening 75 Amid the merry-making of a feast, And kept them prisoners in the citadels. But this makes shorter work. I go this instant To give the necessary orders.
LINENOTES:
[19] You 1800, 1828, 1829.
[20] you 1800, 1828, 1829.
[26] has been 1800, 1828, 1829.
[58] Come of it what it may, on you I lay it. 1800, 1828, 1829.
[77] kept] keep 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act III, Scene VII
To these enter ILLO and TERTSKY.
Tertsky. Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come The Swedes--twelve thousand gallant warriors, Illo! Then straightways for Vienna. Cheerily, friend! What! meet such news with such a moody face?
Illo. It lies with us at present to prescribe 5 Laws, and take vengeance on those worthless traitors, Those skulking cowards that deserted us; One has already done his bitter penance The Piccolomini, be his the fate Of all who wish us evil! This flies sure 10 To the old man's heart; he has his whole life long Fretted and toiled to raise his ancient house From a Count's title to the name of Prince; And now must seek a grave for his only son.
Butler. 'Twas pity though! A youth of such heroic 15 And gentle temperament! The Duke himself, 'Twas easily seen, how near it went to his heart.
Illo. Hark'e, old friend! That is the very point That never pleased me in our General-- He ever gave the preference to the Italians. 20 Yea, at this very moment, by my soul! He'd gladly see us all dead ten times over, Could he thereby recall his friend to life.
Tertsky. Hush, hush! Let the dead rest! This evening's business Is, who can fairly drink the other down-- 25 Your regiment, Illo! gives the entertainment. Come! we will keep a merry carnival-- The night for once be day, and mid full glasses Will we expect the Swedish Avantgarde.
Illo. Yes, let us be of good cheer for to-day, 30 For there's hot work before us, friends! This sword Shall have no rest, till it be bathed to the hilt In Austrian blood.
Gordon. Shame, shame! what talk is this, My Lord Field Marshal? Wherefore foam you so Against your Emperor?
Butler. Hope not too much 35 From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs! How rapidly the wheel of Fortune turns; The Emperor still is formidably strong.
Illo. The Emperor has soldiers, no commander, For this King Ferdinand of Hungary 40 Is but a tyro. Galas? He's no luck, And was of old the ruiner of armies. And then this viper, this Octavio, Is excellent at stabbing in the back, But ne'er meets Friedland in the open field. 45
Tertsky. Trust me, my friends, it cannot but succeed; Fortune, we know, can ne'er forsake the Duke! And only under Wallenstein can Austria Be conqueror.
Illo. The Duke will soon assemble A mighty army, all come crowding, streaming 50 To banners dedicate by destiny To fame and prosperous fortune. I behold Old times come back again, he will become Once more the mighty Lord which he has been. How will the fools, who've now deserted him, 55 Look then? I can't but laugh to think of them, For lands will he present to all his friends, And like a King and Emperor reward True services; but we've the nearest claims. [To GORDON. You will not be forgotten, Governor! 60 He'll take you from this nest and bid you shine In higher station: your fidelity Well merits it.
Gordon. I am content already, And wish to climb no higher; where great height is The fall must needs be great. 'Great height, great depth.' 65
Illo. Here you have no more business for to-morrow; The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. Come, Tertsky, it is supper-time. What think you? Say, shall we have the State illuminated In honour of the Swede? And who refuses 70 To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor.
Tertsky. Nay! Nay! not that, it will not please the Duke--
Illo. What! we are masters here; no soul shall dare Avow himself imperial where we've rule. Gordon! Good night, and for the last time, take 75 A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles To make secure, the watch-word may be altered At the stroke of ten; deliver in the keys To the Duke himself, and then you're quit for ever Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow 80 The Swedes will take possession of the citadel.
Tertsky (as he is going, to Butler). You come though to the castle.
Butler. At the right time. [Exeunt TERTSKY and ILLO.
LINENOTES:
[50] come] comes 1800, 1828, 1829.
[74] Avow himself imperial where we've the rule. 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act III, Scene VIII
GORDON and BUTLER.
Gordon (looking after them). Unhappy men! How free from all foreboding! They rush into the outspread net of murder, In the blind drunkenness of victory; I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, This overflowing and fool-hardy villain 5 That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood.
Butler. Do as he ordered you. Send round patroles. Take measures for the citadel's security; When they are within I close the castle gate That nothing may transpire.
Gordon. Oh! haste not so! 10 Nay, stop; first tell me----
Butler. You have heard already, To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night Alone is ours. They make good expedition. But we will make still greater. Fare you well.
Gordon. Ah! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler, 15 I pray you, promise me!
Butler. The sun has set; A fateful evening doth descend upon us, And brings on their long night! Their evil stars Deliver them unarmed into our hands. And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes 20 The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, The Duke was ever a great calculator; His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, To move and station, as his game required. Other men's honour, dignity, good name, 25 Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of it: Still calculating, calculating still; And yet at last his calculation proves Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and lo! His own life will be found among the forfeits. 30
Gordon. O think not of his errors now; remember His greatness, his munificence, think on all The lovely features of his character, On all the noble exploits of his life, And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen 35 Arrest the lifted sword.
Butler. It is too late. I suffer not myself to feel compassion, Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now:
[Grasping GORDON'S hand.
Gordon! 'Tis not my hatred (I pretend not To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him) 40 Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate. Hostile concurrences of many events Control and subjugate me to the office. In vain the human being meditates 45 Free action. He is but the wire-worked[777:1] puppet Of the blind power, which out of his own choice Creates for him a dread necessity. What too would it avail him, if there were A something pleading for him in my heart-- 50 Still I must kill him.
Gordon. If your heart speak to you, Follow its impulse. 'Tis the voice of God. Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous Bedewed with blood--his blood? Believe it not!
Butler. You know not. Ask not! Wherefore should it happen, 55 That the Swedes gained the victory, and hasten With such forced marches hitherward? Fain would I Have given him to the Emperor's mercy.--Gordon! I do not wish his blood--But I must ransom The honour of my word--it lies in pledge-- 60 And he must die, or----
[Passionately grasping GORDON'S hand.
Listen then, and know! I am dishonoured if the Duke escape us.
Gordon. O! to save such a man----
Butler. What!
Gordon. It is worth A sacrifice.--Come, friend! Be noble-minded! Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, 65 Forms our true honour.
Butler. He is a great Lord, This Duke--and I am but of mean importance. This is what you would say? Wherein concerns it The world at large, you mean to hint to me, Whether the man of low extraction keeps 70 Or blemishes his honour-- So that the man of princely rank be saved. We all do stamp our value on ourselves. The price we challenge for ourselves is given us. There does not live on earth the man so stationed, 75 That I despise myself compared with him. Man is made great or little by his own will; Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies.
Gordon. I am endeavouring to move a rock. Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings. 80 I cannot hinder you, but may some God Rescue him from you! [Exit GORDON.
FOOTNOTES:
[777:1] We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a sentiment in the mouth of any character.--T[RANSLATOR]. 1800, 1828, 1829.
LINENOTES:
[10] Gordon (with earnest anxiety). Oh! &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.
[38] duty 1800, 1828, 1829.
[62] dishonour'd 1800, 1828, 1829.
[66] Butler (with a cold and haughty air). He is, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act III, Scene IX
Butler (alone). I treasured my good name all my life long; The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel, So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon! He prizes above all his fealty; His conscious soul accuses him of nothing; 5 In opposition to his own soft heart He subjugates himself to an iron duty. Me in a weaker moment passion warped; I stand beside him, and must feel myself The worst man of the two. What though the world 10 Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet One man does know it, and can prove it too-- High-minded Piccolomini! There lives the man who can dishonour me! This ignominy blood alone can cleanse! 15 Duke Friedland, thou or I--Into my own hands Fortune delivers me--The dearest thing a man has is himself.
(The curtain drops.)
LINENOTES:
[12] One 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act IV, Scene I
SCENE--BUTLER'S Chamber.
BUTLER, and MAJOR GERALDIN.
Butler. Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them with pikes, For there must be no firing---- Conceal them somewhere near the banquet-room, And soon as the dessert is served up, rush all in And cry--Who is loyal to the Emperor? 5 I will overturn the table--while you attack Illo and Tertsky, and dispatch them both. The castle-palace is well barred and guarded, That no intelligence of this proceeding May make its way to the Duke.--Go instantly; 10 Have you yet sent for Captain Devereux And the Macdonald?----
Geraldin. They'll be here anon.
[Exit GERALDIN.
Butler. Here's no room for delay. The citizens Declare for him, a dizzy drunken spirit Possesses the whole town. They see in the Duke 15 A Prince of peace, a founder of new ages And golden times. Arms too have been given out By the town-council, and a hundred citizens Have volunteered themselves to stand on guard. Dispatch then be the word. For enemies 20 Threaten us from without and from within.
Act IV, Scene II
BUTLER, CAPTAIN DEVEREUX, and MACDONALD.
Macdonald. Here we are, General.
Devereux. What's to be the watchword?
Butler. Long live the Emperor!
Both (recoiling). How?
Butler. Live the House of Austria!
Devereux. Have we not sworn fidelity to Friedland?
Macdonald. Have we not marched to this place to protect him?
Butler. Protect a traitor, and his country's enemy! 5
Devereux. Why, yes! in his name you administered Our oath.
Macdonald. And followed him yourself to Egra.
Butler. I did it the more surely to destroy him.
Devereux. So then!
Macdonald. An altered case!
Butler (to Devereux). Thou wretched man! So easily leav'st thou thy oath and colours? 10
Devereux. The devil!--I but followed your example, If you could prove a villain, why not we?
Macdonald. We've nought to do with thinking--that's your business. You are our General, and give out the orders; We follow you, though the track lead to hell. 15
Butler. Good then! we know each other.
Macdonald. I should hope so.
Devereux. Soldiers of fortune are we--who bids most, He has us.
Macdonald. 'Tis e'en so!
Butler. Well, for the present Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers.
Devereux. We wish no other.
Butler. Ay, and make your fortunes. 20
Macdonald. That is still better.
Butler. Listen!
Both. We attend.
Butler. It is the Emperor's will and ordinance To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland, Alive or dead.
Devereux. It runs so in the letter.
Macdonald. Alive or dead--these were the very words. 25
Butler. And he shall be rewarded from the State In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto.
Devereux. Ay? That sounds well. The words sound always well That travel hither from the Court. Yes! yes! We know already what Court-words import. 30 A golden chain perhaps in sign of favour, Or an old charger, or a parchment patent, And such like.--The Prince-duke pays better.
Macdonald. Yes, The Duke's a splendid paymaster.
Butler. All over With that, my friends! His lucky stars are set. 35
Macdonald. And is that certain?
Butler. You have my word for it.
Devereux. His lucky fortunes all past by?
Butler. For ever. He is as poor as we.
Macdonald. As poor as we?
Devereux. Macdonald, we'll desert him.
Butler. We'll desert him? Full twenty thousand have done that already; 40 We must do more, my countrymen! In short-- We--we must kill him.
Both. Kill him!
Butler. Yes! must kill him. And for that purpose have I chosen you.
Both. Us!
Butler. You, Captain Devereux, and thee, Macdonald. 45
Devereux (after a pause). Choose you some other.
Butler. What? art dastardly? Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for-- Thou conscientious of a sudden?
Devereux. Nay, To assassinate our Lord and General--
Macdonald. To whom we've sworn a soldier's oath--
Butler. The oath 50 Is null, for Friedland is a traitor.
Devereux. No, no! It is too bad!
Macdonald. Yes, by my soul! It is too bad. One has a conscience too--
Devereux. If it were not our chieftain, who so long Has issued the commands, and claim'd our duty. 55
Butler. Is that the objection?
Devereux. Were it my own father, And the Emperor's service should demand it of me, It might be done perhaps--But we are soldiers, And to assassinate our chief commander, That is a sin, a foul abomination, 60 From which no monk or confessor absolves us.
Butler. I am your Pope, and give you absolution. Determine quickly!
Devereux. 'Twill not do!
Macdonald. 'Twon't do!
Butler. Well, off then! and--send Pestalutz to me.
Devereux. The Pestalutz--
Macdonald. What may you want with him? 65
Butler. If you reject it, we can find enough--
Devereux. Nay, if he must fall, we may earn the bounty As well as any other. What think you, Brother Macdonald?
Macdonald. Why if he must fall, And will fall, and it can't be otherwise, 70 One would not give place to this Pestalutz.
Devereux. When do you purpose he should fall?
Butler. This night. To-morrow will the Swedes be at our gates.
Devereux. You take upon you all the consequences!
Butler. I take the whole upon me.
Devereux. And it is 75 The Emperor's will, his express absolute will? For we have instances, that folks may like The murder, and yet hang the murderer.
Butler. The manifesto says--alive or dead. Alive--'tis not possible--you see it is not. 80
Devereux. Well, dead then! dead! But how can we come at him? The town is fill'd with Tertsky's soldiery.
Macdonald. Ay! and then Tertsky still remains, and Illo--
Butler. With these you shall begin--you understand me?
Devereux. How? And must they too perish?
Butler. They the first. 85
Macdonald. Hear, Devereux? A bloody evening this.
Devereux. Have you a man for that? Commission me--
Butler. 'Tis given in trust to Major Geraldin; This is a carnival night, and there's a feast Given at the castle--there we shall surprise them, 90 And hew them down. The Pestalutz and Lesley Have that commission--soon as that is finished--
Devereux. Hear, General! It will be all one to you. Hark'e! let me exchange with Geraldin.
Butler. 'Twill be the lesser danger with the Duke. 95
Devereux. Danger! The devil! What do you think me, General? 'Tis the Duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear.
Butler. What can his eye do to thee?
Devereux. Death and hell! Thou know'st that I'm no milk-sop, General! But 'tis not eight days since the Duke did send me 100 Twenty gold pieces for this good warm coat Which I have on! and then for him to see me Standing before him with the pike, his murderer, That eye of his looking upon this coat-- Why--why--the devil fetch me! I'm no milk-sop! 105
Butler. The Duke presented thee this good warm coat, And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of conscience To run him through the body in return. A coat that is far better and far warmer Did the Emperor give to him, the Prince's mantle. 110 How doth he thank the Emperor? With revolt, And treason.
Devereux. That is true. The devil take Such thankers! I'll dispatch him.
Butler. And would'st quiet Thy conscience, thou hast nought to do but simply Pull off the coat; so canst thou do the deed 115 With light heart and good spirits.
Devereux. You are right. That did not strike me. I'll pull off the coat-- So there's an end of it.
Macdonald. Yes, but there's another Point to be thought of.
Butler. And what's that, Macdonald?
Macdonald. What avails sword or dagger against him? 120 He is not to be wounded--he is--
Butler. What?
Macdonald. Safe against shot, and stab and flash! Hard frozen, Secured, and warranted by the black art! His body is impenetrable, I tell you.
Devereux. In Inglestadt there was just such another-- 125 His whole skin was the same as steel; at last We were obliged to beat him down with gunstocks.
Macdonald. Hear what I'll do.
Devereux. Well?
Macdonald. In the cloister here There's a Dominican, my countryman. I'll make him dip my sword and pike for me 130 In holy water, and say over them One of his strongest blessings. That's probatum! Nothing can stand 'gainst that.
Butler. So do, Macdonald! But now go and select from out the regiment Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows, 135 And let them take the oaths to the Emperor. Then when it strikes eleven, when the first rounds Are passed, conduct them silently as may be To the house--I will myself be not far off.
Devereux. But how do we get through Hartschier and Gordon, 140 That stand on guard there in the inner chamber?
Butler. I have made myself acquainted with the place. I lead you through a back-door that's defended By one man only. Me my rank and office Give access to the Duke at every hour. 145 I'll go before you--with one poniard-stroke Cut Hartschier's wind-pipe, and make way for you.
Devereux. And when we are there, by what means shall we gain The Duke's bed-chamber, without his alarming The servants of the Court; for he has here 150 A numerous company of followers?
Butler. The attendants fill the right wing; he hates bustle, And lodges in the left wing quite alone.
Devereux. Were it well over--hey, Macdonald? I Feel queerly on the occasion, devil knows! 155
Macdonald. And I too. 'Tis too great a personage. People will hold us for a brace of villains.
Butler. In plenty, honour, splendour--You may safely Laugh at the people's babble.
Devereux. If the business Squares with one's honour--if that be quite certain-- 160
Butler. Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for Ferdinand His Crown and Empire. The reward can be No small one.
Devereux. And 'tis his purpose to dethrone the Emperor?
Butler. Yes!--Yes!--to rob him of his crown and life. 165
Devereux. And he must fall by the executioner's hands, Should we deliver him up to the Emperor Alive?
Butler. It were his certain destiny.
Devereux. Well! Well! Come then, Macdonald, he shall not Lie long in pain. 170
[Exeunt BUTLER through one door, MACDONALD and DEVEREUX through the other.
LINENOTES:
[13] thinking 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 16] Butler (appeased). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[28] words 1800, 1828, 1829.
[42] Both (starting back). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[45] thee, Macdonald] the Macdonald 1800.
[65] Devereux (hesitates). The Pestalutz-- 1800, 1828, 1829.
[69] must 1800, 1828, 1829.
[70] will 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 72] Devereux (after some reflection). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[120] him 1800, 1828, 1829.
[121] Butler (starting up). What? 1800, 1828, 1829.
[122] flash] slash 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act IV, Scene III
SCENE--A Gothic Apartment at the DUCHESS FRIEDLAND'S. THEKLA on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. The DUCHESS and LADY NEUBRUNN busied about her. WALLENSTEIN and the COUNTESS in conversation.
Wallenstein. How knew she it so soon?
Countess. She seems to have Foreboded some misfortune. The report Of an engagement, in the which had fallen A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her. I saw it instantly. She flew to meet 5 The Swedish Courier, and with sudden questioning, Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret. Too late we missed her, hastened after her, We found her lying in his arms, all pale And in a swoon.
Wallenstein. A heavy, heavy blow! 10 And she so unprepared! Poor child! How is it?
[Turning to the DUCHESS.
Is she coming to herself?
Duchess. Her eyes are opening.
Countess. She lives.
Thekla (looking around her). Where am I?
Wallenstein (steps to her, raising her up in his arms). Come, cheerly, Thekla! be my own brave girl! See, there's thy loving mother. Thou art in 15 Thy father's arms.
Thekla (standing up). Where is he? Is he gone?
Duchess. Who gone, my daughter?
Thekla. He--the man who uttered That word of misery.
Duchess. O! think not of it, My Thekla!
Wallenstein. Give her sorrow leave to talk! Let her complain--mingle your tears with hers, 20 For she hath suffered a deep anguish; but She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla Hath all her father's unsubdued heart.
Thekla. I am not ill. See, I have power to stand. Why does my mother weep? Have I alarmed her? 25 It is gone by--I recollect myself--
[She casts her eyes round the room, as seeking some one.
Where is he? Please you, do not hide him from me. You see I have strength enough: now I will hear him.
Duchess. No, never shall this messenger of evil Enter again into thy presence, Thekla! 30
Thekla. My father--
Wallenstein. Dearest daughter!
Thekla. I'm not weak-- Shortly I shall be quite myself again. You'll grant me one request?
Wallenstein. Name it, my daughter.
Thekla. Permit the stranger to be called to me, And grant me leave, that by myself I may 35 Hear his report and question him.
Duchess. No, never!
Countess. 'Tis not advisable--assent not to it.
Wallenstein. Hush! Wherefore would'st thou speak with him, my daughter?
Thekla. Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected; I will not be deceived. My mother wishes 40 Only to spare me. I will not be spared. The worst is said already: I can hear Nothing of deeper anguish!
Countess and Duchess. Do it not.
Thekla. The horror overpowered me by surprise. My heart betrayed me in the stranger's presence; 45 He was a witness of my weakness, yea, I sank into his arms; and that has shamed me. I must replace myself in his esteem, And I must speak with him, perforce, that he, The stranger, may not think ungently of me. 50
Wallenstein. I see she is in the right, and am inclined To grant her this request of hers. Go, call him.
[LADY NEUBRUNN goes to call him.
Duchess. But I, thy mother, will be present--
Thekla. 'Twere More pleasing to me, if alone I saw him: Trust me, I shall behave myself the more 55 Collectedly.
Wallenstein. Permit her her own will. Leave her alone with him: for there are sorrows, Where of necessity the soul must be Its own support. A strong heart will rely On its own strength alone. In her own bosom, 60 Not in her mother's arms, must she collect The strength to rise superior to this blow. It is mine own brave girl. I'll have her treated Not as the woman, but the heroine. [Going.
Countess (detaining him). Where art thou going? I heard Tertsky say 65 That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence To-morrow early, but to leave us here.
Wallenstein. Yes, ye stay here, placed under the protection Of gallant men.
Countess. O take us with you, brother. Leave us not in this gloomy solitude 70 To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt Magnify evils to a shape of horror.
Wallenstein. Who speaks of evil? I entreat you, sister, Use words of better omen.
Countess. Then take us with you. O leave us not behind you in a place 75 That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy And sick within me is my heart---- These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault. I cannot tell you, brother, how this place Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 80 Come, sister, join you your entreaty!--Niece, Yours too. We all entreat you, take us with you!
Wallenstein. The place's evil omens will I change, Making it that which shields and shelters for me My best beloved.
Lady Neubrunn (returning). The Swedish officer. 85
Wallenstein. Leave her alone with him. [Exit.
Duchess (to Thekla who starts and shivers). There--pale as death!--Child, 'tis impossible That thou should'st speak with him. Follow thy mother.
Thekla. The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me.
[Exeunt DUCHESS and COUNTESS.
LINENOTES:
SCENE--A Gothic and gloomy, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.
[66] thy 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act IV, Scene IV
THEKLA, the Swedish Captain, LADY NEUBRUNN.
Captain. Princess--I must entreat your gentle pardon-- My inconsiderate rash speech--How could I--
Thekla. You did behold me in my agony. A most distressful accident occasioned You from a stranger to become at once 5 My confidant.
Captain. I fear you hate my presence, For my tongue spake a melancholy word.
Thekla. The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from you. The horror which came o'er me interrupted Your tale at its commencement. May it please you, 10 Continue it to the end.
Captain. Princess, 'twill Renew your anguish.
Thekla. I am firm.---- I will be firm. Well--how began the engagement?
Captain. We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt, Entrenched but insecurely in our camp, 15 When towards evening rose a cloud of dust From the wood thitherward; our vanguard fled Into the camp, and sounded the alarm. Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers, Their horses at full speed, broke through the lines, 20 And leapt the trenches; but their heedless courage Had borne them onward far before the others-- The infantry were still at distance, only The Pappenheimers followed daringly Their daring leader----
[_THEKLA betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed._
Captain. Both in van and flanks 25 With our whole cavalry we now received them; Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot Stretched out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them. They neither could advance, nor yet retreat; And as they stood on every side wedged in, 30 The Rhinegrave to their leader called aloud, Inviting a surrender; but their leader, Young Piccolomini---- [THEKLA, as giddy, grasps a chair. Known by his plume, And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches; Himself leapt first, the regiment all plunged after. 35 His charger, by a halbert gored, reared up, Flung him with violence off, and over him The horses, now no longer to be curbed,----
[_THEKLA, who has accompanied the last speech with all the marks of increasing agony, trembles through her whole frame, and is falling. The LADY NEUBRUNN runs to her, and receives her in her arms._
Neubrunn. My dearest lady----
Captain. I retire.
Thekla. 'Tis over. Proceed to the conclusion.
Captain. Wild despair 40 Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw Their leader perish; every thought of rescue Was spurn'd; they fought like wounded tigers; their Frantic resistance rous'd our soldiery; A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 45 Finish'd before their last man fell.
Thekla. And where---- Where is--You have not told me all.
Captain (after a pause). This morning We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth Did bear him to interment; the whole army Followed the bier. A laurel decked his coffin; 50 The sword of the deceased was placed upon it, In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self. Nor tears were wanting; for there are among us Many, who had themselves experienced The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners; 55 All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave Would willingly have saved him; but himself Made vain the attempt--'tis said he wished to die.
Neubrunn (to Thekla who has hidden her countenance). Look up, my dearest lady----
Thekla. Where is his grave?
Captain. At Neustadt, lady; in a cloister church 60 Are his remains deposited, until We can receive directions from his father.
Thekla. What is the cloister's name?
Captain. Saint Catharine's.
Thekla. And how far is it thither?
Captain. Near twelve leagues.
Thekla. And which the way?
Captain. You go by Tirschenreit 65 And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts.
Thekla. Who Is their commander?
Captain. Colonel Seckendorf.
[THEKLA steps to the table, and takes a ring from a casket.
Thekla. You have beheld me in my agony, And shewn a feeling heart. Please you, accept
[Giving him the ring.
A small memorial of this hour. Now go! 70
Captain. Princess----
[_THEKLA silently makes signs to him to go, and turns from him. The Captain lingers, and is about to speak. LADY NEUBRUNN repeats the signal, and he retires._
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] Captain (respectfully approaching her). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 3] Thekla (with dignity). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[3] did behold] have beheld 1800, 1828, 1829.
[13] will 1800, 1828, 1829.
[46] Thekla (faltering). And where-- 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 71] Captain (confused). 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act IV, Scene V
THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN.
Thekla (falls on Lady Neubrunn's neck). Now, gentle Neubrunn, shew me the affection Which thou hast ever promised--prove thyself My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim. This night we must away!
Neubrunn. Away! and whither?
Thekla. Whither! There is but one place in the world. 5 Thither where he lies buried! To his coffin!
Neubrunn. What would you do there?
Thekla. What do there? That would'st thou not have asked, hadst thou e'er loved. There, there is all that still remains of him. That single spot is the whole earth to me. 10
Neubrunn. That place of death----
Thekla. Is now the only place, Where life yet dwells for me: detain me not! Come and make preparations: let us think Of means to fly from hence.
Neubrunn. Your father's rage----
Thekla. That time is past---- 15 And now I fear no human being's rage.
Neubrunn. The sentence of the world! The tongue of calumny!
Thekla. Whom am I seeking? Him who is no more. Am I then hastening to the arms----O God! I haste but to the grave of the beloved. 20
Neubrunn. And we alone, two helpless feeble women?
Thekla. We will take weapons: my arms shall protect thee.
Neubrunn. In the dark night-time?
Thekla. Darkness will conceal us.
Neubrunn. This rough tempestuous night----
Thekla. Had he a soft bed Under the hoofs of his war-horses?
Neubrunn. Heaven! 25 And then the many posts of the enemy!--
Thekla. They are human beings. Misery travels free Through the whole earth.
Neubrunn. The journey's weary length--
Thekla. The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. 30
Neubrunn. How can we pass the gates?
Thekla. Gold opens them. Go, do but go.
Neubrunn. Should we be recognized--
Thekla. In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland.
Neubrunn. And where procure we horses for our flight? 35
Thekla. My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him.
Neubrunn. Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord?
Thekla. He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer.
Neubrunn. Dear lady! and your mother?
Thekla. Oh! my mother!
Neubrunn. So much as she has suffered too already; 40 Your tender mother--Ah! how ill prepared For this last anguish!
Thekla. Woe is me! my mother! [Pauses. Go instantly.
Neubrunn. But think what you are doing!
Thekla. What can be thought, already has been thought.
Neubrunn. And being there, what purpose you to do? 45
Thekla. There a divinity will prompt my soul.
Neubrunn. Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted! And this is not the way that leads to quiet.
Thekla. To a deep quiet, such as he has found. It draws me on, I know not what to name it, 50 Resistless does it draw me to his grave. There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow. O hasten, make no further questioning! There is no rest for me till I have left These walls--they fall in on me--A dim power 55 Drives me from hence--Oh mercy! What a feeling! What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill, They crowd the place! I have no longer room here! Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm! They press on me; they chase me from these walls-- 60 Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!
Neubrunn. You frighten me so, lady, that no longer I dare stay here myself. I go and call Rosenberg instantly. [Exit LADY NEUBRUNN.
LINENOTES:
[22] arms] arm 1800, 1828, 1829.
[44] can 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act IV, Scene VI
Thekla. His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troop Of his true followers, who offered up Themselves to avenge his death: and they accuse me Of an ignoble loitering--they would not Forsake their leader even in his death--they died for him! 5 And shall I live?---- For me too was that laurel-garland twined That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket: I throw it from me. O! my only hope;-- To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds-- 10 That is the lot of heroes upon earth! [Exit THEKLA.[793:1]
(The curtain drops.)
FOOTNOTES:
[793:1] The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty lines, twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play. 1800, 1828, 1829.
LINENOTES:
[4] they 1800, 1828, 1829.
[5] they 1800, 1828, 1829.
[6] I 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene I
SCENE--A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the back-ground. WALLENSTEIN sitting at a table. The Swedish Captain standing before him.
Wallenstein. Commend me to your lord. I sympathize In his good fortune; and if you have seen me Deficient in the expressions of that joy Which such a victory might well demand, Attribute it to no lack of good will, 5 For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell, And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow The citadel shall be surrendered to you On your arrival.
[The Swedish Captain _retires. WALLENSTEIN sits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. The COUNTESS TERTSKY enters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her, and recollects himself._
Wallenstein. Com'st thou from her? Is she restored? How is she? 10
Countess. My sister tells me, she was more collected After her conversation with the Swede. She has now retired to rest.
Wallenstein. The pang will soften, She will shed tears.
Countess. I find thee altered too, My brother! After such a victory 15 I had expected to have found in thee A cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm! Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art, Our sun.
Wallenstein. Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's Thy husband?
Countess. At a banquet--he and Illo. 20
Wallenstein (rises). The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.
Countess. Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!
Wallenstein (moves to the window). There is a busy motion in the Heaven, The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower, Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[794:1] of the moon, 25 Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light. No form of star is visible! That one White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, Is from Cassiopeia, and therein Is Jupiter. (A pause.) But now 30 The blackness of the troubled element hides him!
[_He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance._
Countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand). What art thou brooding on?
Wallenstein. Methinks, If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. He, is the star of my nativity, And often marvellously hath his aspect 35 Shot strength into my heart.
Countess. Thou'lt see him again.
Wallenstein. See him again? O never, never again.
Countess. How?
Wallenstein. He is gone--is dust.
Countess. Whom meanest thou then?
Wallenstein. He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished! For him there is no longer any future, 40 His life is bright--bright without spot it was, And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap. Far off is he, above desire and fear; No more submitted to the change and chance 45 Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well With him! but who knows what the coming hour Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us!
Countess. Thou speakest Of Piccolomini. What was his death? The courier had just left thee as I came. 50
[_WALLENSTEIN by a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent._
Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view, Let us look forward into sunny days, Welcome with joyous heart the victory, Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; 55 To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.
Wallenstein. I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious. What does not man grieve down? From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 60 Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost In him. The bloom is vanished from my life. For O! he stood beside me, like my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable and familiar 65 With golden exhalations of the dawn. Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished--and returns not.
Countess. O be not treacherous to thy own power. Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 70 Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold.
Wallenstein (stepping to the door). Who interrupts us now at this late hour? It is the Governor. He brings the keys Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister! 75
Countess. O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee-- A boding fear possesses me!
Wallenstein. Fear? Wherefore?
Countess. Should'st thou depart this night, and we at waking Never more find thee!
Wallenstein. Fancies!
Countess. O my soul Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings. 80 And if I combat and repel them waking, They still rush down upon my heart in dreams, I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired.
Wallenstein. This was a dream of favourable omen, 85 That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.
Countess. To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo! It was no more a chamber; the Chartreuse At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded, 90 And where it is thy will that thou should'st be Interred.
Wallenstein. Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.
Countess. What dost thou not believe that oft in dreams A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?
Wallenstein. There is no doubt that there exist such voices. 95 Yet I would not call them Voices of warning that announce to us Only the inevitable. As the sun, Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits 100 Of great events stride on before the events, And in to-day already walks to-morrow. That which we read of the fourth Henry's death Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale Of my own future destiny. The King 105 Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth Into the open air: like funeral knells 110 Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris.
Countess. And to thee The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?
Wallenstein. Nothing. 115 Be wholly tranquil.
Countess. And another time I hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from me Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall, There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped; I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee; 120 When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasped from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me-- 'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed A crimson covering to envelop us.
Wallenstein. That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 125
Countess (gazing on him). If it should come to that--if I should see thee, Who standest now before me in the fulness Of life-- [She falls on his breast and weeps.
Wallenstein. The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee-- Alphabets wound not--and he finds no hands. 130
Countess. If he should find them, my resolve is taken-- I bear about me my support and refuge. [Exit COUNTESS.
FOOTNOTES:
[794:1] These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity.
'Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung, Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht Der Wolken Zug, die Mondessichel wankt, Und durch die Nacht zeucht ungewisse Helle.'
The word 'moon-sickle' reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word 'falcated'. 'The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full: but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated.'
The words 'wanken' and 'schweben' are not easily translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So 'der Wolken Zug'--The Draft, the Procession of Clouds.--The Masses of the Clouds sweep onward in swift stream.
LINENOTES:
[17] thou 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 21] Wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[25] sweep] fly 1800: sail MS. R.
[Before 37] Wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the Countess). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[41] was 1800, 1828, 1829.
[47] him 1800, 1828, 1829.
[57, 58]
This anguish will be wearied down, I know; What pang is permanent with man?
A very inadequate translation of the original.
'Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich, Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!'
Literally--
I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious: What does not man grieve down?
1800, 1828, 1829.
NOTE. In 1834 the literal translation of ll. 57, 58 was substituted for the text of the variant and the footnote was omitted.
[65] Clothing the palpable and the familiar 1800, 1828, 1829.
[68] beautiful 1800, 1828, 1829.
[96] them 1800, 1828, 1829.
[114] thee 1800, 1828, 1829.
[131] should 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene II
WALLENSTEIN, GORDON.
Wallenstein. All quiet in the town?
Gordon. The town is quiet.
Wallenstein. I hear a boisterous music! and the Castle Is lighted up. Who are the revellers?
Gordon. There is a banquet given at the Castle To the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo. 5
Wallenstein. In honour of the victory.--This tribe Can shew their joy in nothing else but feasting.
[Rings. The Groom of the Chamber enters.
Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.
[WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON.
So we are guarded from all enemies, And shut in with sure friends. 10 For all must cheat me, or a face like this
[Fixing his eye on GORDON.
Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.
[The Groom of the Chamber _takes off his mantle, collar and scarf._
Wallenstein. Take care--what is that?
Groom of the Chamber. The golden chain is snapped in two.
Wallenstein. Well, it has lasted long enough. Here--give it.
[He takes and looks at the chain.
'Twas the first present of the Emperor. 15 He hung it round me in the war of Friule, He being then Archduke; and I have worn it Till now from habit---- From superstition if you will. Belike, It was to be a talisman to me, 20 And while I wore it on my neck in faith, It was to chain to me all my life long The volatile fortune whose first pledge it was. Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune Must spring up for me; for the potency 25 Of this charm is dissolved.
[Groom of the Chamber _retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before GORDON in a posture of meditation._
How the old time returns upon me! I Behold myself once more at Burgau, where We two were pages of the Court together. We oftentimes disputed: thy intention 30 Was ever good; but thou wert wont to play The moralist and preacher, and would'st rail at me That I strove after things too high for me, Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams, And still extol to me the golden mean. 35 --Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend To thy own self. See, it has made thee early A superannuated man, and (but That my munificent stars will intervene) Would let thee in some miserable corner 40 Go out like an untended lamp.
Gordon. My Prince! With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, And watches from the shore the lofty ship Stranded amid the storm.
Wallenstein. Art thou already In harbour then, old man? Well! I am not. 45 The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows; My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate; And while we stand thus front to front almost, I might presume to say, that the swift years 50 Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.
[_He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over against GORDON._
Who now persists in calling Fortune false? To me she has proved faithful, with fond love Took me from out the common ranks of men, And like a mother goddess, with strong arm 55 Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. Nothing is common in my destiny, Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares Interpret then my life for me as 'twere One of the undistinguishable many? 60 True in this present moment I appear Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again. The high flood will soon follow on this ebb; The fountain of my fortune, which now stops Repressed and bound by some malicious star, 65 Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.
Gordon. And yet remember I the good old proverb, 'Let the night come before we praise the day.' I would be slow from long-continued fortune To gather hope: for hope is the companion 70 Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven. Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men, For still unsteady are the scales of fate.
Wallenstein (smiling). I hear the very Gordon that of old Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching; 75 I know well, that all sublunary things Are still the vassals of vicissitude. The unpropitious gods demand their tribute. This long ago the ancient Pagans knew: And therefore of their own accord they offered 80 To themselves injuries, so to atone The jealousy of their divinities: And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.
[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.
I too have sacrific'd to him--For me There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault 85 He fell! No joy from favourable fortune Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. The envy of my destiny is glutted: Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning Was drawn off which would else have shattered me. 90
Act V, Scene III
To these enter SENI.
Wallenstein. Is not that Seni? and beside himself, If one may trust his looks! What brings thee hither At this late hour, Baptista?
Seni. Terror, Duke! On thy account.
Wallenstein. What now?
Seni. Flee ere the day-break! Trust not thy person to the Swedes!
Wallenstein. What now 5 Is in thy thoughts?
Seni (with louder voice). Trust not thy person to these Swedes.
Wallenstein. What is it then?
Seni (still more urgently). O wait not the arrival of these Swedes! An evil near at hand is threatening thee From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror! 10 Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition-- Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!
Wallenstein. Baptista, thou art dreaming!--Fear befools thee.
Seni. Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. Come, read it in the planetary aspects; 15 Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee From false friends!
Wallenstein. From the falseness of my friends Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. The warning should have come before! At present I need no revelation from the stars 20 To know that.
Seni. Come and see! trust thine own eyes! A fearful sign stands in the house of life; An enemy, a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet--O be warned! Deliver not thyself up to these heathens 25 To wage a war against our holy church.
Wallenstein (laughing gently). The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now I recollect. This junction with the Swedes Did never please thee--lay thyself to sleep, Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear. 30
Gordon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shewn marks of extreme agitation, and now turns to Wallenstein). My Duke and General! May I dare presume?
Wallenstein. Speak freely.
Gordon. What if 'twere no mere creation Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsaf'd To interpose its aid for your deliverance, And made that mouth its organ.
Wallenstein. Ye're both feverish! 35 How can mishap come to me from the Swedes? They sought this junction with me--'tis their interest.
Gordon (with difficulty suppressing his emotion). But what if the arrival of these Swedes-- What if this were the very thing that winged The ruin that is flying to your temples? 40
[Flings himself at his feet.
There is yet time, my Prince.
Seni. O hear him! hear him!
Gordon (rises). The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, This citadel shall close its gates upon him. If then he will besiege us, let him try it. But this I say; he'll find his own destruction 45 With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner Than weary down the valour of our spirit. He shall experience what a band of heroes, Inspirited by an heroic leader, Is able to perform. And if indeed 50 It be thy serious wish to make amends For that which thou hast done amiss,--this, this Will touch and reconcile the Emperor, Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy, And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, 55 Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour, Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
_Wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent awhile, betraying strong emotion)._ Gordon--your zeal and fervour lead you far. Well, well--an old friend has a privilege. Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never 60 Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could, Yet I--I ne'er could let myself be pardoned. Had I foreknown what now has taken place, That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, My first death-offering: and had the heart 65 Spoken to me, as now it has done--Gordon, It may be, I might have bethought myself. It may be too, I might not. Might or might not, Is now an idle question. All too seriously Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon! 70 Let it then have its course. [Stepping to the window. All dark and silent--at the castle too All is now hushed--Light me, Chamberlain!
[The Groom of the Chamber, _who had entered during the last dialogue, and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation, and throws himself at the DUKE'S feet._
And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish My reconcilement with the Emperor. 75 Poor man! he hath a small estate in Cärnthen, And fears it will be forfeited because He's in my service. Am I then so poor, That I no longer can indemnify My servants? Well! To no one I employ 80 Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief That fortune has fled from me, go! Forsake me. This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, And then go over to thy Emperor. Gordon, good night! I think to make a long 85 Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil Of this last day or two were great. May't please you! Take care that they awake me not too early.
[Exit WALLENSTEIN, the Groom of the Chamber _lighting him. SENI follows. GORDON remains on the darkened stage, following the DUKE with his eye, till he disappears at the farther end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish, and stands leaning against a pillar._
LINENOTES:
[51] amends] amend 1800, 1828, 1829.
[87] were] was 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene IV
GORDON, BUTLER (at first behind the scenes).
Butler (not yet come into view of the stage). Here stand in silence till I give the signal.
Gordon (starts up). 'Tis he, he has already brought the murderers.
Butler. The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.
Gordon. What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him? Shall I call up the house? Alarm the guards? 5
Butler (appears, but scarcely on the stage). A light gleams hither from the corridor. It leads directly to the Duke's bedchamber.
Gordon. But then I break my oath to the Emperor; If he escape and strengthen the enemy, Do I not hereby call down on my head 10 All the dread consequences?
Butler (stepping forward). Hark! Who speaks there?
Gordon. 'Tis better, I resign it to the hands Of providence. For what am I, that I Should take upon myself so great a deed? I have not murdered him, if he be murdered: 15 But all his rescue were my act and deed; Mine--and whatever be the consequences, I must sustain them.
Butler (advances). I should know that voice.
Gordon. Butler!
Butler. 'Tis Gordon. What do you want here? Was it so late then, when the Duke dismissed you? 20
Gordon. Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
Butler. 'Tis wounded. That Illo fought as he was frantic, till At last we threw him on the ground.
Gordon. Both dead?
Butler. Is he in bed?
Gordon. Ah, Butler!
Butler. Is he? speak.
Gordon. He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven 25 Refuses your arm. See--'tis wounded!--
Butler. There is no need of my arm.
Gordon. The most guilty Have perished, and enough is given to justice.
[The Groom of the Chamber _advances from the gallery with his finger on his mouth, commanding silence._
Gordon. He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!
Butler. No! he shall die awake. [Is going.
Gordon. His heart still cleaves 30 To earthly things: he's not prepared to step Into the presence of his God!
Butler (going). God's merciful!
Gordon (holds him). Grant him but this night's respite.
Butler (hurrying off). The next moment May ruin all.
Gordon (holds him still). One hour!----
Butler. Unhold me! What Can that short respite profit him?
Gordon. O--Time 35 Works miracles. In one hour many thousands Of grains of sand run out; and quick as they, Thought follows thought within the human soul. Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose, His heart may change its purpose--some new tidings 40 May come; some fortunate event, decisive, May fall from Heaven and rescue him. O what May not one hour achieve!
Butler. You but remind me, How precious every minute is!
(He stamps on the floor.)
LINENOTES:
[13] that I 1800, 1828, 1829.
[15] I 1800, 1828, 1829.
[16] my 1800, 1828, 1829.
[17] Mine 1800, 1828, 1829.
[19] you 1800, 1828, 1829.
[23] Gordon (shuddering). Both dead? 1800, 1828, 1829.
[25] not 1800, 1828, 1829.
[26] your 1800, 1828.
[27] my 1800, 1828, 1829.
[39] Your 1800, 1828, 1829.
[40] His 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene V
To these enter MACDONALD and DEVEREUX, with the Halberdiers.
Gordon (throwing himself between him and them). No, monster! First over my dead body thou shalt tread. I will not live to see the accursed deed!
Butler (forcing him out of the way). Weak-hearted dotard!
[Trumpets are heard in the distance.
Devereux and Macdonald. Hark! The Swedish trumpets! The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten! 5
Gordon (rushes out). O, God of Mercy!
Butler (calling after him). Governor, to your post!
Groom of the Chamber (hurries in). Who dares make larum here? Hush! The Duke sleeps.
Devereux (with loud harsh voice). Friend, it is time now to make larum.
Groom of the Chamber. Help! Murder!
Butler. Down with him!
_Groom of the Chamber (run through the body by Devereux, falls at the entrance of the gallery)._ Jesus Maria!
Butler. Burst the doors open! 10
[_They rush over the body into the gallery--two doors are heard to crash one after the other--Voices deadened by the distance--Clash of arms--then all at once a profound silence._
Act V, Scene VI
Countess Tertsky (with a light). Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself Is no where to be found! The Neubrunn too, Who watched by her, is missing. If she should Be flown--But whither flown? We must call up Every soul in the house. How will the Duke 5 Bear up against these worst bad tidings? O If that my husband now were but returned Home from the banquet: Hark! I wonder whether The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard Voices and tread of feet here! I will go 10 And listen at the door. Hark! What is that? 'Tis hastening up the steps!
Act V, Scene VII
COUNTESS, GORDON.
Gordon (rushes in out of breath). 'Tis a mistake, 'Tis not the Swedes--Ye must proceed no further-- Butler! O God! Where is he? [Then observing the COUNTESS. Countess! Say----
Countess. You are come then from the castle? Where's my husband?
Gordon. Your husband!--Ask not!--To the Duke---- 5
Countess. Not till You have discovered to me----
Gordon. On this moment Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the Duke. While we are speaking---- [Calling loudly. Butler! Butler! God!
Countess. Why, he is at the castle with my husband.
[BUTLER comes from the gallery.
Gordon. 'Twas a mistake--'Tis not the Swedes--it is 10 The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General Has sent me hither, will be here himself Instantly.--You must not proceed.
Butler. He comes Too late. [GORDON dashes himself against the wall.
Gordon. O God of mercy!
Countess. What too late? Who will be here himself? Octavio 15 In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the Duke?
[She rushes to the gallery.
LINENOTES:
[Before 5] Gordon (in an agony of affright). 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene VIII
Servants run across the stage full of terror. The whole Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses.
Seni (from the gallery). O bloody frightful deed!
Countess. What is it, Seni?
Page (from the gallery). O piteous sight!
[Other Servants hasten in with torches.
Countess. What is it? For God's sake!
Seni. And do you ask? Within the Duke lies murder'd--and your husband Assassinated at the Castle.
[The COUNTESS stands motionless.
Female Servant (rushing across the stage). Help! Help! the Duchess! 5
Burgomaster (enters). What mean these confused Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house?
Gordon. Your house is cursed to all eternity. In your house doth the Duke lie murdered!
Burgomaster (rushing out). Heaven forbid!
First Servant. Fly! fly! they murder us all!
Second Servant (carrying silver plate). That way! The lower 10 Passages are blocked up.
Voice (from behind the Scene). Make room for the Lieutenant-General!
[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, collects herself, and retires suddenly.
Voice (from behind the Scene). Keep back the people! Guard the door.
LINENOTES:
[3] you 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene IX
To these enters OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from out the Corridor with the Halberdiers. WALLENSTEIN'S dead body is carried over the back part of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.
Octavio (entering abruptly). It must not be! It is not possible! Butler! Gordon! I'll not believe it. Say no!
[_GORDON without answering points with his hand to the body of WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over the back of the stage. OCTAVIO looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror._
Devereux (to Butler). Here is the golden fleece--the Duke's sword--
Macdonald. Is it your order--
Butler (pointing to Octavio). Here stands he who now 5 Hath the sole power to issue orders.
[_DEVEREUX and MACDONALD retire with marks of obeisance. One drops away after the other, till only BUTLER, OCTAVIO, and GORDON remain on the stage._
Octavio (turning to Butler). Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted? O God of Justice! To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty Of this foul deed.
Butler. Your hand is pure. You have 10 Availed yourself of mine.
Octavio. Merciless man! Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord-- And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder, With bloody, most accursed assassination!
Butler. I've but fulfilled the Emperor's own sentence. 15
Octavio. O curse of Kings, Infusing a dread life into their words, And linking to the sudden transient thought The unchangeable irrevocable deed. Was there necessity for such an eager 20 Despatch? Could'st thou not grant the merciful A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel. To leave no interval between the sentence, And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem God only, the immutable!
Butler. For what 25 Rail you against me? What is my offence? The Empire from a fearful enemy Have I delivered, and expect reward. The single difference betwixt you and me Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow; 30 I pulled the string. You sowed blood, and yet stand Astonished that blood is come up. I always Knew what I did, and therefore no result Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit. Have you aught else to order?--for this instant 35 I make my best speed to Vienna; place My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne, And hope to gain the applause which undelaying And punctual obedience may demand From a just judge. [Exit BUTLER. 40
LINENOTES:
[10] hand 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 15] Butler (calmly). 1800, 1828, 1829.
Act V, Scene X
To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, pale and disordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.
Octavio (meeting her). O Countess Tertsky! These are the results Of luckless unblest deeds.
Countess. They are the fruits Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead, My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared. 5 This house of splendour, and of princely glory, Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servants Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver The keys.
Octavio. O Countess! my house too is desolate. 10
Countess. Who next is to be murdered? Who is next To be maltreated? Lo! The Duke is dead. The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified! Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity Be imputed to the faithful as a crime-- 15 The evil destiny surprised my brother Too suddenly; he could not think on them.
Octavio. Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment! The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault Hath heavily been expiated--nothing 20 Descended from the father to the daughter, Except his glory and his services. The Empress honours your adversity, Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears! 25 Yield yourself up in hope and confidence To the Imperial Grace!
Countess. To the grace and mercy of a greater Master Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body Of the Duke have its place of final rest? 30 In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found, At Gitschin rests the Countess Wallenstein; And by her side, to whom he was indebted For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished He might sometime repose in death! O let him 35 Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor Is now proprietor of all our castles. This sure may well be granted us--one sepulchre Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers! 40
Octavio. Countess, you tremble, you turn pale!
Countess. You think More worthily of me, than to believe I would survive the downfall of my house. We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp After a monarch's crown--the crown did fate 45 Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit That to the crown belong! We deem a Courageous death more worthy of our free station Than a dishonoured life.--I have taken poison.
Octavio. Help! Help! Support her!
Countess. Nay, it is too late. 50 In a few moments is my fate accomplished. [Exit COUNTESS.
Gordon. O house of death and horrors!
[_An officer enters, and brings a letter with the great seal._
Gordon (steps forward and meets him). What is this? It is the Imperial Seal.
[_He reads the Address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word._
To the Prince Piccolomini.
[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.
(The curtain drops.)
LINENOTES:
[10] Octavio (with a deep anguish). O Countess! 1800, 1828, 1829.
[27] Countess (with her eye raised to heaven). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[41] Countess (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and dignity). You think 1800, 1828, 1829.
[54] Prince 1800, 1828, 1829.
The following mistranslations, which were noted in the Westminster Review, Art. 3, July 1850, are recorded in the Notes affixed to The Dramatic Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1852, pp. 426-7.
THE PICCOLOMINI.
Act I, Scene 2, line 106. 'Der Posten' is rendered 'travelling-bills' instead of an 'item' or 'article in an account'.
I. , Scene 4, line 27. 'Geschmeidig' is rendered 'hammered out' instead of 'pliant'
Act I, Scene 8, line 28. 'Das holde Kind' is rendered 'The voice of my child' instead of 'The charming child'.
II. , Scene 7, line 9. 'Was denn?' is rendered 'What then?' instead of 'What?'
Act II, Scene 12, lines 94, 95. 'Ist unser Glaub' eine Kanzel und Altar' is rendered 'Our faith hangs upon the pulpit and altar' instead of 'is without pulpit and altar'.
Act II, Scene 12, line 104. 'Taboriten' is rendered 'minstrels' instead of 'a branch of the Hussites'. [Pointed out by Ferd. Freiligrath, Athenaeum, Aug. 31, 1861.]
IV. , Scene 7, line 103. 'Losung' is rendered 'redemption' instead of 'watchword'
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN.
II. , Scene 6, Note. 'Verstecktesten' is rendered 'most spotted' instead of 'most secret'
REMORSE[812:1]
Preface
This Tragedy was written in the summer and autumn of the year 1797; at Nether Stowey, in the county of Somerset. By whose recommendation, and of the manner in which both the Play and the Author were treated by the Recommender, let me be permitted to relate: that I knew of its having been received only by a third person; that I could procure neither answer nor the manuscript; and that but for an accident I should have had no copy of the Work itself. That such treatment would damp a young man's exertions may be easily conceived: there was no need of after-misrepresentation and calumny, as an additional sedative.
[812:2][As an amusing anecdote, and in the wish to prepare future Authors, as young as I then was and as ignorant of the world, of[812:3] the treatment they may meet with, I will add, that the Person[812:4] who by a twice conveyed recommendation (in the year 1797) had urged me to write a Tragedy[812:5]: who on my own objection that I was utterly ignorant of all Stage-tactics had promised that he would himself make the necessary alterations, if the Piece should be at all representable; who together with the copy of the Play (hastened by his means so as to prevent the full developement[812:6] of the characters) received a letter from the Author to this purport, 'that conscious of his inexperience, he had cherished no expectations, and should therefore feel no disappointment from the rejection of the Play; but that if beyond his hopes Mr. ---- found in it any capability of being adapted to the Stage, it was delivered to him as if it had been his own Manuscript, to add, omit, or alter, as he saw occasion; and that (if it were rejected) the Author would deem himself amply remunerated by the addition to his Experience, which he should receive, if Mr. ----would point out[812:7] to him the nature of its unfitness for public Representation';--that this very Person returned[813:1] me no answer, and[813:2], spite of repeated applications, retained my Manuscript when I was not conscious of any other Copy being in existence (my duplicate having been destroyed by an accident); that he[813:3] suffered this Manuscript to wander about the Town from his house, so that but ten days ago I saw[813:4] the song in the third Act printed and set to music, without my name, by Mr. Carnaby, in the year 1802; likewise that the same person asserted[813:5] (as I have been assured) that the Play was rejected, because I would not submit to the alteration of one ludicrous line; and finally[813:6] in the year 1806 amused and delighted (as who was ever in his company, if I may trust the universal report, without being amused and delighted?) a large company at the house of a highly respectable Member of Parliament, with the ridicule of the[813:7] Tragedy, as 'a fair specimen', of the whole of which he adduced a line:
'Drip! drip! drip! there's nothing here but dripping.'
In the original copy of the Play, in the first Scene of the fourth Act, Isidore had commenced his Soliloquy in the Cavern with the words:
'Drip! drip! a ceaseless sound of water-drops,'[813:8],[813:9]
as far as I can at present recollect: for on the possible ludicrous association being pointed out to me, I instantly and thankfully struck out the line. And as to my obstinate tenacity, not only my old acquaintance, but (I dare boldly aver) both the Managers of Drury Lane Theatre, and every Actor and Actress, whom I have recently met in the Green Room, will repel the accusation: perhaps not without surprise.]
I thought it right to record these circumstances;[814:1] but I turn gladly and with sincere gratitude to the converse. In the close of last year I was advised to present the Tragedy once more to the Theatre. Accordingly having altered the names, I ventured to address a letter to Mr. Whitbread, requesting information as to whom I was to present my Tragedy. My Letter was instantly and most kindly answered, and I have now nothing to tell but a Tale of Thanks. I should scarce know where to begin, if the goodness of the Manager, Mr. ARNOLD, had not called for my first acknowledgements. Not merely as an acting Play, but as a dramatic Poem, the 'REMORSE' has been importantly and manifoldly benefited by his suggestions. I can with severest truth say, that every hint he gave me was the ground of some improvement. In the next place it is my duty to mention Mr. RAYMOND, the Stage Manager. Had the 'REMORSE' been his own Play--nay, that is saying too little--had I been his brother, or his dearest friend, he could not have felt or exerted himself more zealously.
As the Piece is now acting, it may be thought presumptuous in me to speak of the Actors; yet how can I abstain, feeling, as I do, Mrs. GLOVER'S[814:2] powerful assistance, and knowing the circumstances[814:3] under which she consented to act Alhadra? A time will come, when without painfully oppressing her feelings, I may speak of this more fully. To Miss SMITH I have an equal, though different acknowledgement to make, namely, for her acceptance of a character not fully developed, and quite inadequate to her extraordinary powers. She enlivened and supported many passages, which (though not perhaps wholly uninteresting in the closet) would but for her have hung heavy on the ears of a Theatrical Audience. And in speaking the Epilogue, a composition which (I fear) my hurry will hardly excuse, and which, as unworthy of her name, is here [1828, 1829, 1834] omitted, she made a sacrifice, which only her established character with all judges of Tragic action, could have rendered compatible with her duty to herself. To Mr. DE CAMP'S judgement and full conception of Isidore; to Mr. POPE'S accurate representation of the partial, yet honourable Father; to Mr. ELLISTON'S energy in the character of ALVAR, and who in more than one instance gave it beauties and striking points, which not only delighted but surprised me; and to Mr. RAE[815:1], to whose zeal, and unwearied study of his part, I am not less indebted as a Man, than to his impassioned realization of ORDONIO, as an Author;----to these, and to all concerned with the bringing out of the Play, I can address but one word--THANKS!--but that word is uttered sincerely! and to persons constantly before the eye of the Public, a public acknowledgement becomes appropriate, and a duty.
I defer all answers to the different criticisms on the Piece to an Essay, which I am about to publish immediately, on Dramatic Poetry, relatively to the present State of the Metropolitan Theatres.
From the necessity of hastening the Publication I was obliged to send the Manuscript intended for the Stage: which is the sole cause of the number of directions printed in italics.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
FOOTNOTES:
[812:1] Preface, Prologue, and Epilogue do not appear in the 1834 edition.
[812:2] The long passage here placed within square brackets [] appeared in the first edition only.
[812:3] of for MS. R. (For MS. R see p. 819.)]
[812:4] Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
[812:5] Tragedy for his theatre MS. R.
[812:6] I need not say to Authors, that as to the essentials of a Poem, little can be superinduced without dissonance, after the first warmth of conception and composition. [Note by S. T. C., first edition.]
[812:7] would condescend to point out MS. R.
[813:1] not only returned MS. R.
[813:2] and not only MS. R.
[813:3] that he not only MS. R.
[813:4] I for the first time saw MS. R.
[813:5] likewise . . . assured not only asserted MS. R.
[813:6] but finally (and it is this last fact alone, which was malice for which no excuse of indolence self-made is adduced which determined me to refer to what I had already forgiven and almost forgotten) in the year 1806 MS. R.
[813:7] the this MS. R.
[813:8] (Private.) Had the Piece been really silly (and I have proof positive that Sheridan did not think it so) yet 10 years afterwards to have committed a breach of confidence in order to injure the otherwise . . . that on the ground of an indiscretion into which he had himself seduced the writer, and the writer, too, a man whose reputation was his Bread--a man who had devoted the firstlings of his talents to the celebration of Sheridan's genius--and who after he met treatment not only never spoke unkindly or resentfully of it, but actually was zealous and frequent in defending and praising his public principles of conduct in the Morning Post--and all this in the presence of men of Rank previously disposed to think highly . . . I am sure you will not be surprised that this did provoke me, and that it justifies to my heart the detail here printed.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
P.S.--I never spoke severely of R. B. S. but once and then I confess, I did say that Sheridan was Sheridan. MS. R.
[813:9] The fourth act of the play in its original shape, and, presumably, as sent to Sheridan, opened with the following lines:--
'Drip! drip! drip! drip!--in such a place as this It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip! I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch.'
In MS. III the opening lines are erased and the fourth Act opens thus:--
This ceaseless dreary sound of { [*water-drops*] { dropping water I would they had not fallen upon my Torch!
After the lapse of sixteen years Coleridge may have confused the corrected version with the original. There is no MS. authority for the line as quoted in the Preface.
[814:1] 'This circumstance.' Second edition.
[814:2] The caste was as follows:--Marquis Valdez, Mr. Pope; Don Alvar, Mr. Elliston; Don Ordonio, Mr. Rae; Monviedro, Mr. Powell; Zulimez, Mr. Crooke; Isidore, Mr. De Camp; Naomi, Mr. Wallack; Donna Teresa, Miss Smith; Alhadra, Mrs. Glover.
[814:3] Mrs. G.'s eldest child was buried on the Thursday--two others were ill, and one, with croup given over (tho' it has since recovered) and spite of her's, the physician's and my most passionate remonstrances, she was forced to act Alhadra on the Saturday!!!
Mrs. Glover (I do not much like her, in some respects) was duped into a marriage with a worthless Sharper, who passed himself off on her as a man of rank and fortune and who now lives and feeds himself and his vices on her salary--and hence all her affections flow in the channel of her maternal feelings. She is a passionately fond mother, and to act Alhadra on the Saturday after the Thursday's Burial! MS. H. (For MS. H see p. 819.)
[815:1] Poor Rae! a good man as Friend, Husband, Father. He did his best! but his person is so insignificant, tho' a handsome man off the stage--and, worse than that, the thinness and an insufficiency of his voice--yet Ordonio has done him service. MS. H.
Prologue
BY C. LAMB[816:1]
Spoken by Mr. CARR
There are, I am told, who sharply criticise Our modern theatres' unwieldy size. We players shall scarce plead guilty to that charge, Who think a house can never be too large: Griev'd when a rant, that's worth a nation's ear, 5 Shakes some prescrib'd Lyceum's petty sphere; And pleased to mark the grin from space to space Spread epidemic o'er a town's broad face.-- O might old Betterton or Booth return To view our structures from their silent urn, 10 Could Quin come stalking from Elysian glades, Or Garrick get a day-rule from the shades-- Where now, perhaps, in mirth which Spirits approve, He imitates the ways of men above, And apes the actions of our upper coast, 15 As in his days of flesh he play'd the ghost:-- How might they bless our ampler scope to please, And hate their own old shrunk up audiences.-- Their houses yet were palaces to those, Which Ben and Fletcher for their triumphs chose, 20 Shakspeare, who wish'd a kingdom for a stage, Like giant pent in disproportion'd cage, Mourn'd his contracted strengths and crippled rage. He who could tame his vast ambition down To please some scatter'd gleanings of a town, 25 And, if some hundred auditors supplied Their meagre meed of claps, was satisfied, How had he felt, when that dread curse of Lear's Had burst tremendous on a thousand ears, While deep-struck wonder from applauding bands 30 Return'd the tribute of as many hands! Rude were his guests; he never made his bow To such an audience as salutes us now. He lack'd the balm of labour, female praise. Few Ladies in his time frequented plays, 35 Or came to see a youth with awkward art And shrill sharp pipe burlesque the woman's part. The very use, since so essential grown, Of painted scenes, was to his stage unknown. The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest, 40 The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest-- The forest walks of Arden's fair domain, Where Jaques fed his solitary vein-- No pencil's aid as yet had dared supply, Seen only by the intellectual eye. 45 Those scenic helps, denied to Shakspeare's page, Our Author owes to a more liberal age. Nor pomp nor circumstance are wanting here; 'Tis for himself alone that he must fear. Yet shall remembrance cherish the just pride, 50 That (be the laurel granted or denied) He first essay'd in this distinguished fane, Severer muses and a tragic strain.
FOOTNOTES:
[816:1] A rejected address--which poor Charles was restless to have used. I fitted him with an Epilogue of the same calibre with his Prologue, but I thought it would be going a little too far to publish mine. MS. H.
Epilogue
Written by the Author, and spoken by Miss SMITH in the character of TERESA.
[As printed in The Morning Chronicle, Jan. 28, 1813.]
Oh! the procrastinating idle rogue, The Poet has just sent his Epilogue; Ay, 'tis just like him!--and the hand!
[Poring over the manuscript.
The stick! I could as soon decipher Arabic! But, hark! my wizard's own poetic elf 5 Bids me take courage, and make one myself! An heiress, and with sighing swains in plenty From blooming nineteen to full-blown five-and-twenty, Life beating high, and youth upon the wing, 'A six years' absence was a heavy thing!' 10 Heavy!--nay, let's describe things as they are, With sense and nature 'twas at open war-- Mere affectation to be singular. Yet ere you overflow in condemnation, Think first of poor Teresa's education; 15 'Mid mountains wild, near billow-beaten rocks, Where sea-gales play'd with her dishevel'd locks, Bred in the spot where first to light she sprung, With no Academies for ladies young-- Academies--(sweet phrase!) that well may claim 20 From Plato's sacred grove th' appropriate name! No morning visits, no sweet waltzing dances-- And then for reading--what but huge romances, With as stiff morals, leaving earth behind 'em, As the brass-clasp'd, brass-corner'd boards that bind 'em. 25 Knights, chaste as brave, who strange adventures seek, And faithful loves of ladies, fair as meek; Or saintly hermits' wonder-raising acts, Instead of--novels founded upon facts! Which, decently immoral, have the art 30 To spare the blush, and undersap the heart! Oh, think of these, and hundreds worse than these, Dire disimproving disadvantages, And grounds for pity, not for blame, you'll see, E'en in Teresa's six years' constancy. 35
[Looking at the manuscript.
But stop! what's this?--Our Poet bids me say, That he has woo'd your feelings in this Play By no too real woes, that make you groan, Recalling kindred griefs, perhaps your own, Yet with no image compensate the mind, 40 Nor leave one joy for memory behind. He'd wish no loud laugh, from the sly, shrewd sneer, To unsettle from your eyes the quiet tear That Pity had brought, and Wisdom would leave there. Now calm he waits your judgment! (win or miss), 45 By no loud plaudits saved, damn'd by no factious hiss.
[S. T. C.]
REMORSE[819:1]
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS[819:2]
Dramatis Personae
1797. 1813-1834.
_VELEZ = MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and Doña Teresa's Guardian._ ALBERT = DON ALVAR, the eldest son. OSORIO = DON ORDONIO, the youngest son. FRANCESCO = MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor. MAURICE = ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar. _FERDINAND = ISIDORE, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian._ Familiars of the Inquisition. NAOMI = NAOMI. Moors, Servants, &c. MARIA = DOÑA TERESA, an Orphan Heiress. _ALHADRA, wife } = ALHADRA, Wife of Isidore. of FERDINAND_, } FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION. MOORS, SERVANTS, &c.
Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death.
FOOTNOTES:
[819:1] Remorse, a recast of Osorio, was first played at Drury Lane Theatre, January 23, 1813, and had a run of twenty nights. It was first published as a pamphlet of seventy-two pages in 1813, and ran through three editions. The Second Edition, which numbered seventy-eight pages, was enlarged by an Appendix consisting of a passage which formed part of Act IV, Scene 2 of Osorio, and had been published in the Lyrical Ballads (1798, 1800, 1802, and 1805) as a separate poem entitled 'The Foster-Mother's Tale' (vide ante, pp. 182-4, 571-4), and of a second passage numbering twenty-eight lines, which was afterwards printed as a footnote to Remorse, Act II, Scene 2, line 42 (vide post, p. 842) 'You are a painter, &c.' The Third Edition was a reissue of the Second. In the Athenæum, April 1, 1896, J. D. Campbell points out that there were three issues of the First Edition, of which he had only seen the first; viz. (1) the normal text [Edition I]; (2) a second issue [Edition I (b)] quoted by the Editor (R. H. Shepherd) of Osorio, 1877, as a variant of Act V, line 252; (3) a third issue quoted by the same writer in his edition of P. W., 1877-80, iii. 154, 155 [Edition I (c)]. There is a copy of Edition I (b) in the British Museum: save in respect of Act V, line 252, it does not vary from Edition I. I have not seen a copy of Edition I (c). Two copies of Remorse annotated by S. T. Coleridge have passed through my hands, (1) a copy of the First Edition presented to the Manager of the Theatre, J. G. Raymond (MS. R.), and (2) a copy of the Second Edition presented to Miss Sarah Hutchinson (MS. H.). Remorse is included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[819:2] This Tragedy has a particular advantage--it has the first scene, in which Prologue plays Dialogue with Dumby. (MS. H.)
Act I, Scene I
The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada.
DON ALVAR, wrapt in a Boat cloak, and ZULIMEZ (a Moresco), both as just landed.
Zulimez. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us!
Alvar. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, 'Tis surely this--after long years of exile, 5 To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. Hail, Spain! Granada, hail! once more I press Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers!
Zulimez. Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don Alvar, 10 Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose. It is too hazardous! reveal yourself, And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt!
Alvar. Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother, Injured indeed! O deeply injured! yet 15 Ordonio's brother.
Zulimez. Nobly-minded Alvar! This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.
Alvar. The more behoves it I should rouse within him Remorse! that I should save him from himself.
Zulimez. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows: 20 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy, It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost Weeps only tears of poison!
Alvar. And of a brother, Dare I hold this, unproved? nor make one effort 25 To save him?--Hear me, friend! I have yet to tell thee, That this same life, which he conspired to take, Himself once rescued from the angry flood, And at the imminent hazard of his own. Add too my oath--
Zulimez. You have thrice told already 30 The years of absence and of secrecy, To which a forced oath bound you; if in truth A suborned murderer have the power to dictate A binding oath--
Alvar. My long captivity Left me no choice: the very wish too languished 35 With the fond hope that nursed it; the sick babe Drooped at the bosom of its famished mother. But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy; The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest, No motive could have tempted him to falsehood: 40 In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience, When with abhorrence of his own black purpose The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, Fell from his palsied hand--
Zulimez. Heavy presumption!
Alvar. It weighed not with me--Hark! I will tell thee all; 45 As we passed by, I bade thee mark the base Of yonder cliff--
Zulimez. That rocky seat you mean, Shaped by the billows?--
Alvar. There Teresa met me The morning of the day of my departure. We were alone: the purple hue of dawn 50 Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, And blending with the blushes on her cheek, Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light. There seemed a glory round us, and Teresa The angel of the vision![821:1]
Had'st thou seen 55 How in each motion her most innocent soul Beamed forth and brightened, thou thyself would'st tell me, Guilt is a thing impossible in her! She must be innocent!
Zulimez. Proceed, my lord!
Alvar. A portrait which she had procured by stealth, 60 (For even then it seems her heart foreboded Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry) A portrait of herself with thrilling hand She tied around my neck, conjuring me, With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred 65 To my own knowledge: nor did she desist, Till she had won a solemn promise from me, That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, Knew that which none but she could have disclosed. 70
Zulimez. A damning proof!
Alvar. My own life wearied me! And but for the imperative voice within, With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. That voice, which quelled me, calmed me: and I sought The Belgic states: there joined the better cause; 75 And there too fought as one that courted death! Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, In death-like trance: a long imprisonment followed. The fulness of my anguish by degrees Waned to a meditative melancholy; 80 And still the more I mused, my soul became More doubtful, more perplexed; and still Teresa, Night after night, she visited my sleep, Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me! 85 Yes, still as in contempt of proof and reason, I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless! Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.-- The Moorish robes?--
Zulimez. All, all are in the sea-cave, 90 Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners Secrete the boat there.
Alvar. Above all, the picture Of the assassination--
Zulimez. Be assured That it remains uninjured.
Alvar. Thus disguised I will first seek to meet Ordonio's--wife! 95 If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk, And this the hour; her words, her very looks Will acquit her or convict.
Zulimez. Will they not know you?
Alvar. With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 100 Trust the disguise; and as to my complexion, My long imprisonment, the scanty food, This scar--and toil beneath a burning sun, Have done already half the business for us. Add too my youth, since last we saw each other. 105 Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice A hoarser note--Besides, they think me dead: And what the mind believes impossible, The bodily sense is slow to recognize.
Zulimez. 'Tis yours, sir, to command, mine to obey. 110 Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain, I'll seek our mariners; and in the dusk Transport whate'er we need to the small dell In the Alpujarras--there where Zagri lived. 115
Alvar. I know it well: it is the obscurest haunt Of all the mountains--[823:1] [Both stand listening. Voices at a distance! Let us away! [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[821:1] May not a man, without breach of the 8th Commandment, take out of his left pocket and put into his right? MS. H. (Vide ante, p. 406, To William Wordsworth, l. 43.)
[823:1] Till the Play was printed off, I never remembered or, rather, never recollected that this phrase was taken from Mr. Wordsworth's Poems. Thank God it was not from his MSS. Poems; and at the 2nd Edition I was afraid to point it out lest it should appear a trick to introduce his name. MS. H. [Coleridge is thinking of a line in The Brothers, 'It is the loneliest place in all these hills.']
LINENOTES:
[19] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[20] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[31] years] year Editions 1, 2, 3.
[35] wish] Wish Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[36] hope] Hope Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[55] After vision! [Then with agitation Editions 1, 2, 3.
[56-9] Compare Destiny of Nations, ll. 174-6, p. 137.
[59] After Zulimez (with a sigh), Editions 1, 2, 3 1829.
[86] Yes] And Edition 1.
[95] wife] wife Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[105] since] when Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[113] I'll] I will Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[115] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
Act I, Scene II
Enter TERESA and VALDEZ.
Teresa. I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son And Alvar's brother.
Valdez. Love him for himself, Nor make the living wretched for the dead.
Teresa. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez, But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 5 Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.
Valdez. Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves, And could my heart's blood give him back to thee I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts! Thy dying father comes upon my soul 10 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me; I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fixed her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 15 And with slow anguish wear away thy life, The victim of a useless constancy. I must not see thee wretched.
Teresa. There are woes Ill bartered for the garishness of joy! If it be wretched with an untired eye 20 To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, My hair dishevelled by the pleasant sea breeze, To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again All past hours of delight! If it be wretched 25 To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, To go through each minutest circumstance Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them;[824:1] (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid 30 Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and played the selfsame tune He used to play, and listened to the shadow Herself had made)--if this be wretchedness, 35 And if indeed it be a wretched thing To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died, died just ere his return! Then see him listening to my constancy, Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 40 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon; Or haply in some more fantastic mood, To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45 My Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness That eats away the life, what were it, think you, If in a most assured reality He should return, and see a brother's infant Smile at him from my arms? 50 Oh what a thought!
Valdez. A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. The very week he promised his return----
Teresa. Was it not then a busy joy? to see him, After those three years' travels! we had no fears-- 55 The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter. Almost endeared his absence! Yet the gladness, The tumult of our joy! What then if now----
Valdez. O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts, Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless! 60 Yes, I am old--I have no pleasant fancies-- Hectic and unrefreshed with rest--
Teresa. My father!
Valdez. The sober truth is all too much for me! I see no sail which brings not to my mind The home-bound bark in which my son was captured 65 By the Algerine--to perish with his captors!
Teresa. Oh no! he did not!
Valdez. Captured in sight of land! From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower We might have seen----
Teresa. His capture, not his death.
Valdez. Alas! how aptly thou forget'st a tale 70 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 valour, And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes: Gallant Ordonio! O beloved Teresa, 75 Would'st 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.
Teresa. For mercy's sake Press me no more! I have no power to love him. 80 His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow, Chill me like dew-damps of the unwholesome night: My love, a timorous and tender flower, Closes beneath his touch.
Valdez. You wrong him, maiden! You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well 85 To character by such unkindly phrases The stir and workings of that love for you Which he has toiled to smother. 'Twas not well, Nor is it grateful in you to forget His wounds and perilous voyages, and how 90 With an heroic fearlessness of danger He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar. It was not well--You have moved me even to tears.
Teresa. Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez! pardon me! It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 95 A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried Beyond myself, if I but hear of one Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not Born in one day, like twins of the same parent? Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father! 100 A six years' absence is a heavy thing, Yet still the hope survives----
Valdez (looking forward). Hush! 'tis Monviedro.
Teresa. The Inquisitor! on what new scent of blood?
Enter MONVIEDRO with ALHADRA.
Monviedro. Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord, 105 My present need is with your son. We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he.
[Enter from the opposite side DON ORDONIO.
My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.
Ordonio. Hail, reverend father! what may be the business? 110
Monviedro. 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, 115 But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Though lessoned by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, 120 Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevailed with me that----
Ordonio. Reverend father, I am much beholden to your high opinion, Which so o'erprizes my light services. [Then to ALHADRA. 125 I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me.
Monviedro. 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 130 Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, Should prove the patron of this infidel! The warranter of a Moresco's faith! Now I return.
Alhadra. My Lord, my husband's name 135 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) 140 You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar! What, is he ill, my Lord? how strange he looks!
Valdez. You pressed upon him too abruptly, father! The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted. 145
Ordonio. O Heavens! I?--I doted? Yes! I doted on him.
[ORDONIO walks to the end of the stage, VALDEZ follows.
Teresa. 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! 150
Monviedro. 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, 155 That he will say he is my husband's friend.
Teresa. 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!
Valdez. Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son! 160
Monviedro. My lord, I truly grieve----
Ordonio. 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.
Monviedro. I hope, my lord, your merely human pity 165 Doth not prevail----
Ordonio. 'Tis certain that he was a catholic; What changes may have happened in three years, I can not say; but grant me this, good father: Myself I'll sift him: if I find him sound, 170 You'll grant me your authority and name To liberate his house.
Monviedro. Your zeal, my lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare Would authorize an ampler trust--you have it.
Ordonio. I will attend you home within an hour. 175
Valdez. Meantime return with us and take refreshment.
Alhadra. Not till my husband's free! I may not do it. I will stay here.
Teresa (aside). Who is this Isidore?
Valdez. Daughter!
Teresa. With your permission, my dear lord, 180 I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze.
[Exeunt VALDEZ, MONVIEDRO and ORDONIO.
Alhadra. Hah! there he goes! a bitter curse go with him, A scathing curse! You hate him, don't you, lady?
Teresa. Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you. 185
Alhadra. These fell inquisitors! these sons of blood! As I came on, his face so maddened me, That ever and anon I clutched my dagger And half unsheathed it----
Teresa. Be more calm, I pray you.
Alhadra. And as he walked along the narrow path 190 Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager; 'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember That his Familiars held my babes and husband. To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge, And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, 195 O, it had been most sweet!
Teresa. Hush! hush for shame! Where is your woman's heart?
Alhadra. O gentle lady! You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, Many and strange! Besides, I am a Christian, And Christians never pardon--'tis their faith! 200
Teresa. Shame fall on those who so have shewn it to thee!
Alhadra. I know that man; 'tis well he knows not me. Five years ago (and he was the prime agent), Five years ago the holy brethren seized me.
Teresa. What might your crime be?
Alhadra. I was a Moresco! 205 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, 210 Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cowered as it entered, and at once sank down. Oh miserable! by that lamp to see My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread 215 Brought daily; for the little wretch was sickly-- My rage had dried away its natural food.[830:1] In darkness I remained--the dull bell counting, Which haply told me, that the all-cheering sun Was rising on our garden. When I dozed, 220 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. 225
Teresa. O Heaven! it is too horrible to hear.
Alhadra. 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?[830:2] Great evils ask great passions to redress them, 230 And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence.
Teresa. You were at length released?
Alhadra. Yes, at length I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven! 'Twas the first time my infant smiled. No more-- For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady, 235 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!
Teresa. But your husband--
Alhadra. A month's imprisonment would kill him, Lady. 240
Teresa. Alas, poor man!
Alhadra. He hath a lion's courage, Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance; Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart He worships nature in the hill and valley, Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all-- 245
Enter ALVAR disguised as a Moresco, and in Moorish garments.
Teresa. Know you that stately Moor?
Alhadra. I know him not: But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpujarras.
Teresa. The Alpujarras? Does he know his danger, So near this seat?
Alhadra. He wears the Moorish robes too, 250 As in defiance of the royal edict.
[_ALHADRA advances to ALVAR, who has walked to the back of the stage, near the rocks. TERESA drops her veil._
Alhadra. Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred to our race----
Alvar. You have mistaken me. I am a Christian.
Alhadra. He deems, that we are plotting to ensnare him: 255 Speak to him, Lady--none can hear you speak, And not believe you innocent of guile.
Teresa. If aught enforce you to concealment, Sir--
Alhadra. He trembles strangely.
[ALVAR sinks down and hides his face in his robe.
Teresa. See, we have disturbed him.
[Approaches nearer to him.
I pray you, think us friends--uncowl your face, 260 For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows healing. I pray you, think us friends!
Alvar (raising his head). Calm, very calm! 'Tis all too tranquil for reality! And she spoke to me with her innocent voice, 265 That voice, that innocent voice! She is no traitress!
Teresa. Let us retire (haughtily to Alhadra).
Alhadra. He is indeed a Christian.
Alvar (aside). She deems me dead, yet wears no mourning garment! Why should my brother's--wife--wear mourning garments? 270
[To TERESA.
Your pardon, noble dame! that I disturbed you: I had just started from a frightful dream.
Teresa. Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said, They prophesy--
Alvar. The Past lives o'er again In its effects, and to the guilty spirit 275 The ever-frowning Present is its image.
Teresa. Traitress! (Then aside.) What sudden spell o'ermasters me? Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman?
Alvar. I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant With blindest trust, and a betrothéd maid, 280 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 Dishonoured in my absence, soul and body! Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, 285 And murderers were suborned against my life. But by my looks, and most impassioned words, I roused the virtues that are dead in no man, Even in the assassins' hearts! they made their terms, And thanked me for redeeming them from murder. 290
Alhadra. You are lost in thought: hear him no more, sweet Lady!
Teresa. From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, And slight things bring on me the idle mood! Well sir, what happened then?
Alvar. On a rude rock, A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs, 295 Whose thready leaves to the low-breathing gale Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean, I stayed, as though the hour of death were passed, And I were sitting in the world of spirits-- For all things seemed unreal! There I sate-- 300 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, seemed one havock. The second flash of lightning shewed a tree 305 Hard by me, newly scathed. I rose tumultuous: My soul worked high, I bared my head to the storm, And with loud voice and clamorous agony, Kneeling I prayed to the great Spirit that made me, Prayed, that Remorse might fasten on their hearts, 310 And cling with poisonous tooth, inextricable As the gored lion's bite!
Teresa. A fearful curse!
Alhadra. But dreamt you not that you returned and killed them? Dreamt you of no revenge?
Alvar. She would have died Died in her guilt--perchance by her own hands! 315 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 prayed for the punishment that cleanses hearts: For still I loved her!
Alhadra. And you dreamt all this? 320
Teresa. My soul is full of visions all as wild!
Alhadra. 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 addressed your tale to me. Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplexed me, 325 With obscure memory of something past, Which still escaped my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pampered with long wishing. If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling, Whilst your full heart was shaping out its dream, 330 Drove you to this, your not ungentle, wildness-- You have my sympathy, and so farewell! But if some undiscovered wrongs oppress you, And you need strength to drag them into light, The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, 335 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, Nor shall you want my favourable pleading.[833:1]
[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! 340 How sad she looked, 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? 345 But ere she married him, he had stained her honour; Ah! there I am hampered. 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. 350 No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience! And she referred to me--fondly, methought! Could she walk here if she had been a traitress? Here where we played together in our childhood? Here where we plighted vows? where her cold cheek 355 Received my last kiss, when with suppressed feelings 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 dashed from the lips. 360 I'll haunt this scene no more! live she in peace! Her husband--aye her husband! May this angel New mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, heaven, That I may pray for my poor guilty brother! [Exit.
FOOTNOTES:
[824:1] [Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing half-playful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the parenthesis.] Editions 2, 3, 1829.
Here Valdez bends back, with a smile of wonder at the witness of the Fancy, which Teresa noting, she checks her enthusiasm, and in a persuasive half-pleading tone and action exemplifies her meaning in the little Tale included in the Parenthesis. MS. Note to First Edition.
[830:1] 218-20. Compare Fragment.
[830:2] 229. Compare line 13 of the lines 'Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune', p. 157.
[833:1] (then an half-pause and dropping the voice as hinted by the relaxation of the metre--'Nor shall you,' &c.).--I mention this because it is one of the lines for which Mr. Gifford (whose §§ in the Quarterly Rev. drove M. L. mad with a severer fit than she had ever had before) declared me at Murray's shop fit to be whipt as an idle Schoolboy--and, alas, I had conceited it to be a little beauty! MS. H.
LINENOTES:
[29] him] him Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[50] my] my Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[51] After
thought [Clasping her forehead.
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[54] Teresa (abruptly). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[61] fancies] dreams Edition 1.
[62] Teresa (with great tenderness). My, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[75] Gallant Ordonio! (Pauses, then tenderly.) Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[77] And most delight his spirit, go, thou make Edition 1.
[94] Lord Valdez] my father Edition 1.
[103] forward] forwards Editions 1, 2, 3.
[104] what] some Edition 1.
[105] Monviedro (having first made his obeisance to Valdez and Teresa). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 106] [Looking forward Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[112] his] their Edition 1.
[118] lessoned] lessened Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829, 1834.
[133] warranter] guarantee Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[136] Stage-direction om. Edition 1.
[142] murderers] murderers Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[After 142] [TERESA looks at MONVIEDRO with disgust and horror. ORDONIO'S appearance to be collected from what follows.
[143] Mon. (to VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO). What, is he ill, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[144] Valdez (angrily). You, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. pressed upon] started on Edition 1.
[146] Ordonio (starting as in sudden agitation). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. I?--I] I?--I Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 146: [Then recovering himself. Editions 1, 2, 3.
[147] doted] doted Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 147] . . . follows soothing him. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[148] Teresa (her eye following Ordonio). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[163] do] do Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[164] is] is Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[167] was] was Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[183]
A scathing curse! [Then, as if recollecting herself, and with a timid look.
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 184] Teresa (perceiving that Alhadra is conscious she has spoken imprudently). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[185] my] my Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[188] my] my Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[199] Many and strange! Besides, (ironically) I, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[218-20]
In darkness I remained--counting the bell Which haply told me, that the blessed Sun Was rising on my garden.
Edition 1.
[248] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[249] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[254] Alvar (interrupting her). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[256] you] you Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 267] [They advance to the front of the Stage. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[268] Alhadra (with scorn). He is, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 278] [TERESA looks round uneasily, but gradually becomes attentive as ALVAR proceeds in the next speech. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[310] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[312]
As the gored lion's bite!
Teresa (shuddering). A fearful curse!
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[313] Alhadra (fiercely). But dreamt, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[314] Alvar (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress). She would, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[331] wildness] kindness Editions 1, 2, 3.
[338] my] my Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[339] Her] Her Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[348] him] him Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[350] know] know Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[352] me] me Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[362] husband] husband Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[After 364] End of the Act First. Editions 1, 2, 3.
Act II, Scene I
A wild and mountainous country. ORDONIO and ISIDORE are discovered, supposed at a little distance from ISIDORE'S house.
Ordonio. Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners.
Isidore. Now indeed My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock, That over-brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver! 5 Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide When for my follies I was made to wander, With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them: Now but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 10 Had been my bed and pillow.
Ordonio. Good Isidore! Why this to me? It is enough, you know it.
Isidore. A common trick of gratitude, my lord, Seeking to ease her own full heart----
Ordonio. Enough! A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 15 You have it in your power to serve me greatly.
Isidore. And how, my lord? I pray you to name the thing. I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice To pluck a weed you fancied!
Ordonio. Why--that--Lady--
Isidore. 'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I saw you: 20 Have you a son, my lord?
Ordonio. O miserable-- [Aside. Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind. I told you what I wished--now for the truth-- She loved the man you kill'd.
Isidore. You jest, my lord?
Ordonio. And till his death is proved she will not wed me. 25
Isidore. You sport with me, my lord?
Ordonio. Come, come! this foolery Lives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it!
Isidore. I can bear this, and any thing more grievous From you, my lord--but how can I serve you here?
Ordonio. Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture 30 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics--
Isidore. I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you.
Ordonio. In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. She hath no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true: 35 Her lover schooled her in some newer nonsense! Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and can not keep the tears in her eye: And such do love the marvellous too well 40 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 45 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.
Isidore. Will that be a sure sign?
Ordonio. Beyond suspicion. Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, (By some base spell he had bewitched her senses) She whispered such dark fears of me forsooth, 50 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 holds The secret of the existence of this portrait Known only to her lover and herself. 55 But I had traced her, stolen unnotic'd on them, And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.
Isidore. But now I should have cursed the man who told me You could ask aught, my lord, and I refuse-- But this I can not do.
Ordonio. Where lies your scruple? 60
Isidore. Why--why, my lord! You know you told me that the lady lov'd you, Had loved you with incautious tenderness; That if the young man, her betrothéd husband, Returned, yourself, and she, and the honour of both 65 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. This fellow is a Man--he killed for hire One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples! 70
[Then turning to ISIDORE.
These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering-- Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt, Spelling thy villainy.
Isidore. My lord--my lord, I can bear much--yes, very much from you! But there's a point where sufferance is meanness: 75 I am no villain--never kill'd for hire-- My gratitude----
Ordonio. O aye--your gratitude! 'Twas a well-sounding word--what have you done with it?
Isidore. Who proffers his past favours for my virtue--
Ordonio. Virtue----
Isidore. Tries to o'erreach me--is a very sharper, 80 And should not speak of gratitude, my lord. I knew not 'twas your brother!
Ordonio. And who told you?
Isidore. He himself told me.
Ordonio. Ha! you talk'd with him! And those, the two Morescoes who were with you?
Isidore. Both fell in a night brawl at Malaga. 85
Ordonio (in a low voice). My brother--
Isidore. 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----
Ordonio. Villain! no more. I'll hear no more of it.
Isidore. My lord, it much imports your future safety 90 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!
Isidore. We met him in the very place you mentioned. Hard by a grove of firs--
Ordonio. Enough--enough-- 95
Isidore. He fought us valiantly, and wounded all; In fine, compelled a parley.
Ordonio. Alvar! brother!
Isidore. He offered me his purse--
Ordonio. Yes?
Isidore. Yes--I spurned it.-- He promised us I know not what--in vain! Then with a look and voice that overawed me, 100 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; 105 I asked 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 its organ,) That woman is dishonoured by that brother, 110 And he the man who sent us to destroy you. He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him He wore her portrait round his neck. He look'd As he had been made of the rock that propt his back-- Aye, just as you look now--only less ghastly! 115 At length recovering from his trance, he threw His sword away, and bade us take his life, It was not worth his keeping.
Ordonio. And you kill'd him? Oh blood hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you! He was his Maker's Image undefac'd! 120 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 through with icy cold!
Isidore (aside). Were he alive he had returned ere now. The consequence the same--dead through his plotting! 125
Ordonio. O this unutterable dying away--here-- This sickness of the heart! What if I went And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds? Aye! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool! What have I done but that which nature destined, 130 Or the blind elements stirred up within me? If good were meant, why were we made these beings? And if not meant--
Isidore. You are disturbed, my lord!
Ordonio (starts). A gust of the soul! i'faith it overset me. O 'twas all folly--all! idle as laughter! 135 Now, Isidore! I swear that thou shalt aid me.
Isidore (in a low voice). I'll perish first!
Ordonio. What dost thou mutter of?
Isidore. Some of your servants know me, I am certain.
Ordonio. There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll mask you.
Isidore. They'll know my gait: but stay! last night I watched 140 A stranger near the ruin in the wood, Who as it seemed was gathering herbs and wild flowers. I had followed him at distance, seen him scale Its western wall, and by an easier entrance Stole after him unnoticed. There I marked, 145 That mid the chequer work of light and shade With curious choice he plucked no other flowers, But those on which the moonlight fell: and once I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard-- Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment. 150
Ordonio. Doubtless you question'd him?
Isidore. 'Twas my intention, Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies Lurk every where, already (as it seemed) Had given commission to his apt familiar 155 To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning, Was by this trusty agent stopped midway. I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him In that lone place, again concealed myself: Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd, 160 And in your name, as lord of this domain, Proudly he answered, 'Say to the Lord Ordonio, He that can bring the dead to life again!'
Ordonio. A strange reply!
Isidore. Aye, all of him is strange. He called himself a Christian, yet he wears 165 The Moorish robes, as if he courted death.
Ordonio. Where does this wizard live?
Isidore (pointing to the distance). You see that brooklet? Trace its course backward: through a narrow opening It leads you to the place.
Ordonio. How shall I know it?
Isidore. You cannot err. It is a small green dell 170 Built all around with high off-sloping hills, And from its shape our peasants aptly call it The 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 grow 175 Down in the water. At the further end A puny cataract falls on the lake; And there, a curious sight! you see its shadow For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, Up through the foliage of those faery trees. 180 His cot stands opposite. You cannot miss it.
Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of the scene, and then turning round to Isidore). Ha!--Who lurks there! Have we been overheard? There where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glitters----
Isidore. 'Neath those tall stones, which propping each the other, Form a mock portal with their pointed arch? 185 Pardon my smiles! 'Tis a poor idiot boy, Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about, His weak eyes seeth'd in most unmeaning tears. And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head, And staring at his bough from morn to sun-set, 190 See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises.
Ordonio. 'Tis well, and now for this same wizard's lair.
Isidore. Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch.
Ordonio. I shall not fail to find it. 195
[Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE.
LINENOTES:
[3] My] My Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[17] And how, my lord? I pray you name the thing. Editions 1, 2, 3.
[19] Ordonio (with embarrassment and hesitation). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[23] truth] truth Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[24] Isidore (looking as suddenly alarmed). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[37] upon] on Edition 1.]
[61] Isidore (with stammering). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[63] incautious] incautious Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[67] native] native Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[69] Ordonio (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[79] Ordonio (with bitter scorn). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[83] Ordonio (alarmed). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[84] those] these Edition 1.
[91] Am I not a man? Edition 1. I] I Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[97] Ordonio (sighing as if lost in thought). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[98] Ordonio (with eager suspicion). Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[98] Isidore (indignantly). Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[108] I] I Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[109] its] his Edition 1.
[120] He was the image of the Deity. Edition 1.
[After 120] [A pause. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 122] [A pause. Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[127]
This sickness of the heart [A pause.
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829, &c.
[After 129] [A pause. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[Before 134] Ordonio (starts, looking at him wildly; then, after a pause, during which his features are forced into a smile). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[145] Stole] Stoln Editions 1, 2, 3.
[161] your] your Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 181]
Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch.
Ord. I shall not fail to find it. [Exit ORDONIO. ISIDORE goes into his Cottage.
Edition 1.
[182-95] om. Edition 1.