I heard him mutt’ring o’er the plant. A wizard!
Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employments.
Osorio. What may his name be?
Ferdinand. That I cannot tell you. 135
Only Francesco bade an officer
Speak in your name, as lord of this domain.
So he was question’d, who and what he was.
This was his answer: Say to the Lord Osorio,
‘He that can bring the dead to life again.’ 140
Osorio. A strange reply!
Ferdinand. Aye — all of him is strange.
He call’d himself a Christian — yet he wears
The Moorish robe, as if he courted death.
Osorio. Where does this wizard live?
Ferdinand (pointing to a distance). You see that brooklet?
Trace its course backward thro’ a narrow opening 145
It leads you to the place.
Osorio. How shall I know it?
Ferdinand. You can’t mistake. It is a small green dale
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, 150
And round its banks tall wood, that branches over
And makes a kind of faery forest grow
Down in the water. At the further end
A puny cataract falls on the lake;
And there (a curious sight) you see its shadow 155
For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke,
Up through the foliage of those faery trees.
His cot stands opposite — you cannot miss it.
Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash
Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 160
O’er the new thatch.
Osorio. I shall not fail to find it.
[Exit OSORIO. FERDINAND goes into his house.
Scene changes.
The inside of a cottage, around which flowers and plants of various
kinds are seen.
ALBERT and MAURICE.
Albert. He doth believe himself an iron soul,
And therefore puts he on an iron outward
And those same mock habiliments of strength
Hide his own weakness from himself.
Maurice. His weakness! 165
Come, come, speak out! Your brother is a villain!
Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours
You suffer him to hold!
Albert. Maurice! dear Maurice!
That my return involved Osorio’s death
I trust would give me an unmingl’d pang — 170
Yet bearable. But when I see my father
Strewing his scant grey hairs even on the ground
Which soon must be his grave; and my Maria,
Her husband proved a monster, and her infants
His infants — poor Maria! — all would perish, 175
All perish — all! — and I (nay bear with me!)
Could not survive the complicated ruin!
Maurice (much affected). Nay, now, if I have distress’d you — you
well know,
I ne’er will quit your fortunes! true, ‘tis tiresome.
You are a painter — one of many fancies — 180
You can call up past deeds, and make them live
On the blank canvas, and each little herb,
That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest,
You’ve learnt to name — but I ——
Albert. Well, to the Netherlands
We will return, the heroic Prince of Orange 185
Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance
Of our past service.
Maurice. Heard you not some steps?
Albert. What if it were my brother coming onward!
Not very wisely (but his creature teiz’d me)
I sent a most mysterious message to him. 190
Maurice. Would he not know you?
Albert. I unfearingly
Trust this disguise. Besides, he thinks me dead;
And what the mind believes impossible,
The bodily sense is slow to recognize.
Add too my youth, when last we saw each other; 195
Manhood has swell’d my chest, and taught my voice
A hoarser note.
Maurice. Most true! And Alva’s Duke
Did not improve it by the unwholesome viands
He gave so scantily in that foul dungeon,
During our long imprisonment.
Enter OSORIO.
Albert. It is he! 200
Maurice. Make yourself talk; you’ll feel the less. Come, speak.
How do you find yourself? Speak to me, Albert.
Albert (placing his hand on his heart). A little fluttering
here; but more of sorrow!
Osorio. You know my name, perhaps, better than me.
I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez. 205
Albert (groaning aloud). The son of Velez!
[OSORIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks
attentively at the plants.
Maurice. Why, what ails you now?
[ALBERT grasps MAURICE’S hand in agitation.
Maurice. How your hand trembles, Albert! Speak! what wish you?
Albert. To fall upon his neck and weep in anguish!
Osorio (returning). All very curious! from a ruin’d abbey
Pluck’d in the moonlight. There’s a strange power in weeds 210
When a few odd prayers have been mutter’d o’er them.
Then they work miracles! I warrant you,
There’s not a leaf, but underneath it lurks
Some serviceable imp. There’s one of you,
Who sent me a strange message.
Albert. I am he! 215
Osorio. I will speak with you, and by yourself.
[Exit MAURICE.
Osorio. ‘He that can bring the dead to life again.’
Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard,
But one that strips the outward rind of things!
Albert.