Remorse: a Tragedy, in Five Acts/Act 2

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Act I.

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

Act II.

Act III.

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4545335Remorse: a Tragedy, in Five Acts — Act II.Samuel Taylor Coleridge

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A wild and mountainous Country. Ordonio and Isidore are discovered, supposed at a little distance from Isidore's house.

Ord.Here we may stop: your house distinct in view,
Yet we secured from listeners.

Isid.Now indeed
My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters
Basking in sunshine on you vine-clad rock,
That over brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver!
Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle
You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide,
When for my follics I was made to wander,
With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them:
Now but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones
Had been ny bed and pillow.

Ord.Good Isidore!
Why this to me? It is enough, you know it.

Isid.A common trick of gratitude, my lord,
Seeking to ease her own full heart———

Ord.Enough!
A debt repaid ceases to be a debt.
You have it in your power to serve me greatly.

Isid.And how, my lord? I pray you name the thing.
I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice
To pluck a weed you fancied!

Ord. (with embarrassment and hesitation.)
Why—that—Lady—

Isid.'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I saw you:
Have you a son, my lord?

Ord. (aside.)O miserable—
Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind.
I told you what I wish'd—now for the truth—
She loved the man you kill'd.

Isid. (looking as suddenly alarmed.) You jest, my lord?

Ord.And till his death is proved she will not wed me.

Isid.You sport with me, my lord?

Ord.Come, come! this foolery
Lives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it!

Isid.I can bear this, and any thing more grievous
From you, my lord—but how can I serve you here?

Ord.Why you can utter with a solemn gesture
Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning,
Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics—

Isid.I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you.

Ord.In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer.
She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true,
Her lover schools her in some newer nonsense.
Yet still a tale of spirits works on 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
Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy
With a strange music, that she knows not of—
With fumes of frankinsense, and mummery,
Then leave, as one sure token of his death,
That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck
I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.

Isid.Will that be a sure sign?

Ord.Beyond suspicion.
Fondly caressing him, her favor'd lover,
(By some base spell he had bewitch'd her senses)
She whisper'd such dark fears of me forsooth,
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.
But I had traced her, stoln unnoticed on them,
And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.

Isid.But now I should have cursed the man who told me
You could ask ought, my lord, and I refuse—
But this I can not do.

Ord.Where lies your scruple?

Isid. (with stammering.) Why—why, my lord,
You know you told me that the lady loved you,
Had loved you with incautious tenderness ;—
That if the young man, her betrothed husband,
Returned, yourself, and she, and the honor of both,
Must perish. Now, tho' with no tenderer scruples
Than those which being native to the heart—
Than those, my lord, which merely being a man—

Ord. (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person.)
This fellow is a man, he kill'd for hire
One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples!
(then turning to Isidore)
Those doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering—
Pish, fool! thou blunder'st thro' the book of guilt,
Spelling thy villainy———

Isid.My lord—my lord—
I can bear much—yes, very much from you!
But there's a point, where sufferance is meanness;
I am no villain—never kill'd for hire—
My gratitude———

Ord.O aye—your gratitude!
'Twas a well sounding word—what have you done with it?

Isid.Who proffers his past favors for my virtue—

Ord. (with bitter scorn.)Virtue———

Isid.Tries to o'erreach me—is a very sharper,
And should not speak of gratitude, my lord.
I knew not 'twas your brother!

Ord. (alarmed.)And who told you?

Isid.He himself told me.

Ord.Ha! you talk'd with him?
And these, the two Morescoes whow ere with you?

Isid.Both fell in a night brawl at Malaga.

Ord. (in a low voice.)My brother—

Isid. 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———

Ord.Villain! no more. I'll hear no more of it.

Isid. My lord, it much imports your future safety
That you should hear it.
Ord, (turning off from Isidore.)
Am I not a man?
'Tis as it should be! tut—the deed itself
Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler!

Isid.We met him in the very place you mentioned,
Hard by a grove of firs———

Ord.Enough—enough—

Isid.He fought us valiantly, and wounded all;
In fine, compell'd a parley—

Ord. (sighing as if lost in thought.)
Alvar! brother!

Isid.He offer'd me his purse—

Ord.Yes?

Isid.Yes—I spurn'd it.
He promised us I know not what—in vain!
Then with a look and voice which overawed me,
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—
I ask'd 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 his organ,)
That woman is dishonor'd by that brother,
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!
At length recovering from his trance, he threw
His sword away, and bade us take his life—
It was not worth his keeping.

Ord.And you kill'd him?
Oh blood hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you!
He was the image of the Deity—
(a pause)
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 thro' with icy cold!

Isid. (aside.)Were he alive he had return'd ere now—
The consequence the same—dead thro' his plotting!