JOHANNA.That is my lord, the king.
SOLDIER.His horse is restive, plunges, rears and falls—He struggles hard to extricate himself.
[JOHANNA accompanies these words with passionate movements.
Our troops are pressing on in full career,They near him, reach him—they surround him now.
JOHANNA.Oh, have the heavens above no angels more!
ISABEL (laughing scornfully).Now is the time, deliverer—now deliver!
JOHANNA (throws herself upon her knees, and prays with passionateviolence).Hear me, O God, in my extremity!In fervent supplication up to Thee,Up to thy heaven above I send my soul.The fragile texture of a spider's web,As a ship's cable, thou canst render strong;Easy it is to thine omnipotenceTo change these fetters into spider's webs—Command it, and these massy chains shall fall,And these thick walls be rent, Thou, Lord of old,Didst strengthen Samson, when enchained and blindHe bore the bitter scorn of his proud foes.Trusting in thee, he seized with mighty powerThe pillars of his prison, bowed himself,And overthrew the structure.
SOLDIER.Triumph!
ISABEL.How?
SOLDIER.The king is taken!
JOHANNA (springing up).Then God be gracious to me!
[She seizes her chains violently with both hands, and breaks them asunder. At the same moment rushing upon the nearest soldier, she seizes his sword and hurries out. All gaze after her, transfixed with astonishment.
The same, without JOHANNA.
ISABEL (after a long pause).How was it? Did I dream? Where is she gone?How did she break these ponderous iron chains?A world could not have made me credit it,If I had not beheld it with these eyes.
SOLDIER (from the tower).How? Hath she wings? Hath the wind borne her down?
ISABEL.Is she below?
SOLDIER.She strides amidst the fight:Her course outspeeds my sight—now she is here—Now there—I see her everywhere at once!—She separates the troops—all yield to her:The scattered French collect—they form anew!—Alas! what do I see! Our people castTheir weapons to the ground, our banners sink——
ISABEL.What? Will she snatch from us the victory?
SOLDIER.She presses forward, right towards the king.She reaches him—she bears him from the fight—Lord Fastolfe falls—the general is taken!
ISABEL.I'll hear no more! Come down!
SOLDIER.Fly, queen! you will be taken by surprise.Armed soldiers are advancing tow'rds the tower.
[He comes down.
ISABEL (drawing her sword).Then fight, ye cowards!
LA HIRE with soldiers. At his entrance the peopleof the QUEEN lay down their arms.
LA HIRE (approaching her respectfully).Queen, submit yourself—Your knights have yielded—to resist is vain!—Accept my proffered services. CommandWhere you would be conducted.
ISABEL.Every placeThe same, where I encounter not the Dauphin.
[She resigns her sword, and follows him with the soldiers.
The Scene changes to the battle-field.
Soldiers with flying banners occupy the background. Before them the KING and the DUKE OF BURGUNDY appear, bearing JOHANNA in their arms; she is mortally wounded, and apparently lifeless. They advance slowly to the front of the stage. AGNES SOREL rushes in.
SOREL (throwing herself on the bosom of the KING).You're free—you live—I have you back again!
KING.Yes, I am free—I am so at this price!
[Pointing to JOHANNA.
SOREL.Johanna! God! she's dying!
BURGUNDY.She is goneAn angel passeth hence! See, how she lies,Easy and tranquil, like a sleeping child!The peace of heaven around her features plays,The breath of life no longer heaves her breast,But vital warmth still lingers in her hand.
KING.She's gone! She never will awaken more,Her eye will gaze no more on earthly things.She soars on high, a spirit glorified,She seeth not our grief, our penitence.
SOREL.Her eyes unclose—she lives!
BURGUNDY (in astonishment).Can she returnBack from the grave, triumphant e'en o'er death?She riseth up! She standeth!
JOHANNA (standing up, and looking round).Where am I?
BURGUNDY.With thine own people, maiden—with thy friends!
KING.Supported by thy friend, and by thy king.
JOHANNA (after looking at him fixedly for some time).No! I am not a sorceress! IndeedI am not one.
KING.Thou'rt holy, as an angel;A cloud of error dimmed our mental sight.
JOHANNA (gazing round her with a joyful smile).And am I really, then, among my friends,And am no more rejected and despised?They curse me not—kindly they look on me!—Yes, all around me now seems clear again!That is my king!—the banners these of France!My banner I behold not—where is it?Without my banner I dare not appear;To me it was confided by my Lord,And I before his throne must lay it down;I there may show it, for I bore it truly.
KING (averting his face).Give her the banner!
[It is given to her. She stands quite unsupported,the banner in her hand. The heaven is illuminedby a rosy light.
JOHANNA.See you the rainbow yonder in the air?Its golden portals heaven doth wide unfold,Amid the angel choir she radiant stands,The eternal Son she claspeth to her breast,Her arms she stretcheth forth to me in love.How is it with me? Light clouds bear me up—My ponderous mail becomes a winged robe;I mount—I fly—back rolls the dwindling earth—Brief is the sorrow—endless is the joy!
[Her banner falls and she sinks lifeless on the ground. All remain for some time in speechless sorrow. Upon a signal from the KING, all the banners are gently placed over her, so that she is entirely concealed by them.
By Frederich Schiller
ISABELLA, Princess of Messina.DON MANUEL | her Sons.DON CAESAR |BEATRICE.DIEGO, an ancient Servant.MESSENGERS.THE ELDERS OF MESSINA, mute.THE CHORUS, consisting of the Followers of the two Princes.
A spacious hall, supported on columns, with entrances on both sides; at the back of the stage a large folding-door leading to a chapel.
DONNA ISABELLA in mourning; the ELDERS OF MESSINA.
ISABELLA.Forth from my silent chamber's deep recesses,Gray Fathers of the State, unwillinglyI come; and, shrinking from your gaze, upliftThe veil that shades my widowed brows: the lightAnd glory of my days is fled forever!And best in solitude and kindred gloomTo hide these sable weeds, this grief-worn frame,Beseems the mourner's heart. A mighty voiceInexorable—duty's stern command,Calls me to light again.Not twice the moonHas filled her orb since to the tomb ye boreMy princely spouse, your city's lord, whose armAgainst a world of envious foes aroundHurled fierce defiance! Still his spirit livesIn his heroic sons, their country's pride:Ye marked how sweetly from their childhood's bloomThey grew in joyous promise to the yearsOf manhood's strength; yet in their secret hearts,From some mysterious root accursed, upsprungUnmitigable, deadly hate, that spurnedAll kindred ties, all youthful, fond affections,Still ripening with their thoughtful age; not mineThe sweet accord of family bliss; though eachAwoke a mother's rapture; each alikeSmiled at my nourishing breast! for me aloneYet lives one mutual thought, of children's love;In these tempestuous souls discovered elseBy mortal strife and thirst of fierce revenge.
While yet their father reigned, his stern controlTamed their hot spirits, and with iron yokeTo awful justice bowed their stubborn will:Obedient to his voice, to outward seemingThey calmed their wrathful mood, nor in arrayEre met, of hostile arms; yet unappeasedSat brooding malice in their bosoms' depths;They little reek of hidden springs whose powerCan quell the torrent's fury: scarce their sireIn death had closed his eyes, when, as the sparkThat long in smouldering embers sullen lay,Shoots forth a towering flame; so unconfinedBurst the wild storm of brothers' hate triumphantO'er nature's holiest bands. Ye saw, my friends,Your country's bleeding wounds, when princely strifeWoke discord's maddening fires, and ranged her sonsIn mutual deadly conflict; all aroundWas heard the clash of arms, the din of carnage,And e'en these halls were stained with kindred gore.
Torn was the state with civil rage, this heartWith pangs that mothers feel; alas, unmindfulOf aught but public woes, and pitilessYou sought my widow's chamber—there with tauntsAnd fierce reproaches for your country's illsFrom that polluted spring of brother's hateDerived, invoked a parent's warning voice,And threatening told of people's discontentAnd princes' crimes! "Ill-fated land! now wastedBy thy unnatural sons, ere long the preyOf foeman's sword! Oh, haste," you cried, "and endThis strife! bring peace again, or soon MessinaShall bow to other lords." Your stern decreePrevailed; this heart, with all a mother's anguishO'erlabored, owned the weight of public cares.I flew, and at my children's feet, distracted,A suppliant lay; till to my prayers and tearsThe voice of nature answered in their breasts!
Here in the palace of their sires, unarmed,In peaceful guise Messina shall beholdThe long inveterate foes; this is the day!E'en now I wait the messenger that bringsThe tidings of my sons' approach: be readyTo give your princes joyful welcome homeWith reverence such as vassals may beseem.Bethink ye to fulfil your subject duties,And leave to better wisdom weightier cares.Dire was their strife to them, and to the StateFruitful of ills; yet, in this happy bondOf peace united, know that they are mightyTo stand against a world in arms, nor lessEnforce their sovereign will against yourselves.
[The ELDERS retire in silence; she beckons toan old attendant, who remains.
Diego!
DIEGO.Honored mistress!
ISABELLA.Old faithful servant, then true heart, cone near me;Sharer of all a mother's woes, be thineThe sweet communion of her joys: my treasureShrined in thy heart, my dear and holy secretShall pierce the envious veil, and shine triumphantTo cheerful day; too long by harsh decrees,Silent and overpowered, affection yetShall utterance find in Nature's tones of rapture!And this imprisoned heart leap to the embraceOf all it holds most dear, returned to gladMy desolate halls;So bend thy aged stepsTo the old cloistered sanctuary that guardsThe darling of my soul, whose innocenceTo thy true love (sweet pledge of happier days)!Trusting I gave, and asked from fortune's stormA resting place and shrine. Oh, in this hourOf bliss; the dear reward of all thy cares.Give to my longing arms my child again!
[Trumpets are heard in the distance.
Haste! be thy footsteps winged with joy—I hearThe trumpet's blast, that tells in warlike accentsMy sons are near:
[Exit DIEGO. Music is heard in an opposite direction,and becomes gradually louder.
Messina is awake!Hark! how the stream of tongues hoarse murmuringRolls on the breeze,—'tis they! my mother's heartFeels their approach, and beats with mighty throesResponsive to the loud, resounding march!They come! they come! my children! oh, my children!
[Exit.
The CHORUS enters.
(It consists of two semi-choruses which enter at the same time from opposite sides, and after marching round the stage range themselves in rows, each on the side by which it entered. One semi-chorus consists of young knights, the other of older ones, each has its peculiar costume and ensigns. When the two choruses stand opposite to each other, the march ceases, and the two leaders speak.) [The first chorus consists of Cajetan, Berengar, Manfred, Tristan, and eight followers of Don Manuel. The second of Bohemund, Roger, Hippolyte, and nine others of the party of Don Caesar.
First Chorus (CAJETAN).
I greet ye, glittering hallsOf olden timeCradle of kings! Hail! lordly roof,In pillared majesty sublime!
Sheathed be the sword!In chains before the portal liesThe fiend with tresses snake-entwined,Fell Discord! Gently treat the inviolate floor!Peace to this royal dome!Thus by the Furies' brood we swore,And all the dark, avenging Deities!
Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).
I rage! I burn! and scarce refrainTo lift the glittering steel on high,For, lo! the Gorgon-visaged trainOf the detested foeman nigh:Shall I my swelling heart control?To parley deign—or still in mortal strifeThe tumult of my soul?Dire sister, guardian of the spot, to theeAwe-struck I bend the knee,Nor dare with arms profane thy deep tranquillity!
First Chorus (CAJETAN).
Welcome the peaceful strain!Together we adore the guardian powerOf these august abodes!Sacred the hourTo kindred brotherly tiesAnd reverend, holy sympathies;—Our hearts the genial charm shall own,And melt awhile at friendship's soothing tone:—But when in yonder plainWe meet—then peace away!Come gleaming arms, and battle's deadly fray!
The whole Chorus.
But when in yonder plainWe meet—then peace away!Come gleaming arms, and battle's deadly fray!
First Chorus (BERENGAR).
I hate thee not—nor call thee foe,My brother! this our native earth,The land that gave our fathers birth:—Of chief's behest the slave decreed,The vassal draws the sword at need,For chieftain's rage we strike the blow,For stranger lords our kindred blood must flow.
Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Hate fires their souls—we ask not why;—At honor's call to fight and die,Boast of the true and brave!Unworthy of a soldier's nameWho burns not for his chieftain's fame!
The whole Chorus.
Unworthy of a soldier's nameWho burns not for his chieftain's fame!
One of the Chorus (BERENGAR).
Thus spoke within my bosom's coreThe thought—as hitherward I strayed;And pensive 'mid the waving store,I mused, of autumn's yellow glade:—These gifts of nature's bounteous reign,—The teeming earth, and golden grain,Yon elms, among whose leaves entwineThe tendrils of the clustering vine;—Gay children of our sunny clime,—Region of spring's eternal prime!Each charm should woo to love and joy,No cares the dream of bliss annoy,And pleasure through life's summer daySpeed every laughing hour away.We rage in blood,—oh, dire disgrace!For this usurping, alien race;From some far distant land they came,Beyond the sun's departing flame.And owned upon our friendly shoreThe welcome of our sires of yore.Alas! their sons in thraldom pine,The vassals of this stranger line.
A second (MANFRED).
Yes! pleased, on our land, from his azure way,The sun ever smiles with unclouded ray.But never, fair isle, shall thy sons repose'Mid the sweets which the faithless waves enclose.On their bosom they wafted the corsair bold,With his dreaded barks to our coast of old.For thee was thy dower of beauty vain,'Twas the treasure that lured the spoiler's train.Oh, ne'er from these smiling vales shall riseA sword for our vanquished liberties;'Tis not where the laughing Ceres reigns,And the jocund lord of the flowery plains:—Where the iron lies hid in the mountain cave,Is the cradle of empire—the home of the brave!
[The folding-doors at the back of the stage are thrown open.DONNA ISABELLA appears between her sons, DON MANUEL and DON CAESAR.
Both Choruses (CAJETAN).
Lift high the notes of praise!Behold! where lies the awakening sun,She comes, and from her queenly browShoots glad, inspiring rays.Mistress, we bend to thee!
First Chorus.
Fair is the moon amid the starry choirThat twinkle o'er the sky,Shining in silvery, mild tranquillity;—The mother with her sons more fair!See! blooming at her side,She leads the royal, youthful pair;With gentle grace, and soft, maternal pride,Attempering sweet their manly fire.
Second Chorus (BERENGAR).
From this fair stem a beauteous treeWith ever-springing boughs shall smile,And with immortal verdure shade our isle;Mother of heroes, joy to thee!Triumphant as the sun thy kingly raceShall spread from clime to clime,And give a deathless name to rolling time!
ISABELLA (comes forward with her SONS).Look down! benignant Queen of Heaven, and still,This proud tumultuous heart, that in my breastSwells with a mother's tide of ecstasy,As blazoned in these noble youths, my imageMore perfect shows;—Oh, blissful hour! the firstThat comprehends the fulness of my joy,When long-constrained affection dares to pourIn unison of transport from my heart,Unchecked, a parent's undivided love:Oh! it was ever one—my sons were twain.Say—shall I revel in the dreams of bliss,And give my soul to Nature's dear emotions?Is this warm pressure of thy brother's handA dagger in thy breast?[To DON MANUEL.Or when my eyesFeed on that brow with love's enraptured gaze,Is it a wrong to thee?[To DON CAESAR.Trembling, I pause,Lest e'en affection's breath should wake the firesOf slumbering hate.[After regarding both with inquiring looksSpeak! In your secret heartsWhat purpose dwells? Is it the ancient feudUnreconciled, that in your father's hallsA moment stilled; beyond the castle gates,Where sits infuriate war, and champs the bit—Shall rage anew in mortal, bloody conflict?
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Concord or strife—the fate's decreeIs bosomed yet in dark futurity!What comes, we little heed to know,Prepared for aught the hour may show!
ISABELLA (looking round).What mean these arms? this warlike, dread array,That in the palace of your sires portendsSome fearful issue? needs a mother's heartOutpoured, this rugged witness of her joys?Say, in these folding arms shall treason hideThe deadly snare? Oh, these rude, pitiless men,The ministers of your wrath!—trust not the showOf seeming friendship; treachery in their breastsLurks to betray, and long-dissembled hate.Ye are a race of other lands; your siresProfaned their soil; and ne'er the invader's yokeWas easy—never in the vassal's heartLanguished the hope of sweet revenge;—our swayNot rooted in a people's love, but ownsAllegiance from their fears; with secret joy—For conquest's ruthless sword, and thraldom's chainsFrom age to age, they wait the atoning hourOf princes' downfall;—thus their bards awakeThe patriot strain, and thus from sire to sonRehearsed, the old traditionary taleBeguiles the winter's night. False is the world,My sons, and light are all the specious tiesBy fancy twined: friendship—deceitful name!Its gaudy flowers but deck our summer fortune,To wither at the first rude breath of autumn!So happy to whom heaven has given a brother;The friend by nature signed—the true and steadfast!Nature alone is honest—nature only—When all we trusted strews the wintry shore—On her eternal anchor lies at rest,Nor heeds the tempest's rage.
DON MANUEL.My mother!
DON CAESAR.Hear me
ISABELLA (taking their hands).Be noble, and forget the fancied wrongsOf boyhood's age: more godlike is forgivenessThan victory, and in your father's graveShould sleep the ancient hate:—Oh, give your daysRenewed henceforth to peace and holy love!
[She recedes one or two steps, as if to give them spaceto approach each other. Both fix their eyes on the groundwithout regarding one another.
ISABELLA (after awaiting for some time, with suppressed emotion,a demonstration on the part of her sons).I can no more; my prayers—my tears are vain:—'Tis well! obey the demon in your hearts!Fulfil your dread intent, and stain with bloodThe holy altars of your household gods;—These halls that gave you birth, the stage where murderShall hold his festival of mutual carnageBeneath a mother's eye!—then, foot to foot,Close, like the Theban pair, with maddening gripe,And fold each other in a last embrace!Each press with vengeful thrust the dagger home,And "Victory!" be your shriek of death:—nor thenShall discord rest appeased; the very flameThat lights your funeral pyre shall tower disseveredIn ruddy columns to the skies, and tellWith horrid image—"thus they lived and died!"
[She goes away; the BROTHERS stand as before.
Chorus (CAJETAN).
How have her words with soft controlResistless calmed the tempest of my soul!No guilt of kindred blood be mine!Thus with uplifted hands I prey;Think, brothers, on the awful day,And tremble at the wrath divine!
DON CAESAR (without taking his eyes from the ground).Thou art my elder—speak—without dishonorI yield to thee.
DON MANUEL.One gracious word, an instant,My tongue is rival in the strife of love!
DON CAESAR.I am the guiltier—weaker——
DON MANUEL.Say not so!Who doubts thy noble heart, knows thee not well;The words were prouder, if thy soul were mean.
DON CAESAR.It burns indignant at the thought of wrong—But thou—methinks—in passion's fiercest mood,'Twas aught but scorn that harbored in thy breast.
DON MANUEL.Oh! had I known thy spirit thus to peaceInclined, what thousand griefs had never tornA mother's heart!
DON CAESAR.I find thee just and true:Men spoke thee proud of soul.
DON MANUEL.The curse of greatness!Ears ever open to the babbler's tale.
DON CAESAR.Thou art too proud to meanness—I to falsehood!
DON MANUEL.We are deceived, betrayed!
DON CAESAR.The sport of frenzy!DON MANUEL.And said my mother true, false is the world?
DON CAESAR.Believe her, false as air.
DON MANUEL.Give me thy hand!
DON CAESAR.And thine be ever next my heart!
[They stand clasping each other's hands,and regard each other in silence.
DON MANUEL.I gazeUpon thy brow, and still behold my motherIn some dear lineament.
DON CAESAR.Her image looksFrom thine, and wondrous in my bosom wakesAffection's springs.
DON MANUEL.And is it thou?—that smileBenignant on thy face?—thy lips that charmWith gracious sounds of love and dear forgiveness?
DON CAESAR.Is this my brother, this the hated foe?His mien all gentleness and truth, his voice,Whose soft prevailing accents breathe of friendship!
[After a pause.
DON MANUEL.Shall aught divide us?
DON CAESAR.We are one forever!
[They rush into each other's arms.
First CHORUS (to the Second).
Why stand we thus, and coldly gaze,While Nature's holy transports burn?No dear embrace of happier daysThe pledge—that discord never shall return!Brothers are they by kindred band;We own the ties of home and native land.
[Both CHORUSES embrace.
A MESSENGER enters.
Second CHORUS to DON CAESAR (BOHEMUND).Rejoice, my prince, thy messenger returnsAnd mark that beaming smile! the harbingerOf happy tidings.
MESSENGER.Health to me, and healthTo this delivered state! Oh sight of bliss,That lights mine eyes with rapture! I beholdTheir hands in sweet accord entwined; the sonsOf my departed lord, the princely pairDissevered late by conflict's hottest rage.
DON CAESAR.Yes, from the flames of hate, a new-born Phoenix,Our love aspires!
MESSENGER.I bring another joy;My staff is green with flourishing shoots.
DON CAESAR (taking him aside).Oh, tell meThy gladsome message.
MESSENGER.All is happinessOn this auspicious day; long sought, the lost oneIs found.
DON CAESAR.Discovered! Oh, where is she? Speak!
MESSENGER.Within Messina's walls she lies concealed.
DON MANUEL (turning to the First SEMI-CHORUS).A ruddy glow mounts in my brother's cheek,And pleasure dances in his sparkling eye;Whate'er the spring, with sympathy of loveMy inmost heart partakes his joy.
DON CAESAR (to the MESSENGER).Come, lead me;Farewell, Don Manuel; to meet againEnfolded in a mother's arms! I flyTo cares of utmost need.
[He is about to depart.
DON MANUEL.Make no delay;And happiness attend thee!
DON CAESAR (after a pause of reflection, he returns).How thy looksAwake my soul to transport! Yes, my brother,We shall be friends indeed! This hour is brightWith glad presage of ever-springing love,That in the enlivening beam shall flourish fair,Sweet recompense of wasted years!
DON MANUEL.The blossomBetokens goodly fruit.
DON CAESAR.I tear myselfReluctant from thy arms, but think not lessIf thus I break this festal hour—my heartThrills with a holy joy.
DON MANUEL (with manifest absence of mind).Obey the moment!Our lives belong to love.
DON CESAR.What calls me hence——
DON MANUEL.Enough! thou leav'st thy heart.
DON CAESAR.No envious secretShall part us long; soon the last darkening foldShall vanish from my breast.
[Turning to the CHORUS.
Attend! ForeverStilled is our strife; he is my deadliest foe,Detested as the gates of hell, who daresTo blow the fires of discord; none may hopeTo win my love, that with malicious talesEncroach upon a brother's ear, and pointWith busy zeal of false, officious friendship.The dart of some rash, angry word, escapedFrom passion's heat; it wounds not from the lips,But, swallowed by suspicion's greedy ear,Like a rank, poisonous weed, embittered creeps,And hangs about her with a thousand shoots,Perplexing nature's ties.
[He embraces his brother again, and goes awayaccompanied by the Second CHORUS.
Chorus (CAJETAN).Wondering, my prince,I gaze, for in thy looks some mysteryStrange-seeming shows: scarce with abstracted mienAnd cold thou answered'st, when with earnest heartThy brother poured the strain of dear affection.As in a dream thou stand'st, and lost in thought,As though—dissevered from its earthly frame—Thy spirit roved afar. Not thine the breastThat deaf to nature's voice, ne'er owned the throbsOf kindred love:—nay more—like one entrancedIn bliss, thou look'st around, and smiles of rapturePlay on thy cheek.
DON MANUEL.How shall my lips declareThe transports of my swelling heart? My brotherRevels in glad surprise, and from his breastInstinct with strange new-felt emotions, poursThe tide of joy; but mine—no hate came with me,Forgot the very spring of mutual strife!High o'er this earthly sphere, on rapture's wings,My spirit floats; and in the azure sea,Above—beneath—no track of envious nightDisturbs the deep serene! I view these halls,And picture to my thoughts the timid joyOf my sweet bride, as through the palace gates,In pride of queenly state, I lead her home.She loved alone the loving one, the stranger,And little deems that on her beauteous browMessina's prince shall 'twine the nuptial wreath.How sweet, with unexpected pomp of greatness,To glad the darling of my soul! too longI brook this dull delay of crowning bliss!Her beauty's self, that asks no borrowed charm,Shall shine refulgent, like the diamond's blazeThat wins new lustre from the circling gold!
Chorus (CAJETAN).Long have I marked thee, prince, with curious eye,Foreboding of some mystery deep enshrinedWithin thy laboring breast. This day, impatient,Thy lips have burst the seal; and unconstrainedConfess a lover's joy;—the gladdening chase,The Olympian coursers, and the falcon's flightCan charm no more:—soon as the sun declinesBeneath the ruddy west, thou hiest thee quickTo some sequestered path, of mortal eyeUnseen—not one of all our faithful trainCompanion of thy solitary way.Say, why so long concealed the blissful flame?Stranger to fear—ill-brooked thy princely heartOne thought unuttered.
DON MANUEL.Ever on the wingIs mortal joy;—with silence best we guardThe fickle good;—but now, so near the goalOf all my cherished hopes, I dare to speak.To-morrow's sun shall see her mine! no powerOf hell can make us twain! With timid stealthNo longer will I creep at dusky eve,To taste the golden fruits of Cupid's tree,And snatch a fearful, fleeting bliss: to-dayWith bright to-morrow shall be one! So smoothAs runs the limpid brook, or silvery sandThat marks the flight of time, our lives shall flowIn continuity of joy!
Chorus (CAJETAN).AlreadyOur hearts, my prince, with silent vows have blessedThy happy love; and now from every tongue,For her—the royal, beauteous bride—should soundThe glad acclaim; so tell what nook unseen,What deep umbrageous solitude, enshrinesThe charmer of thy heart? With magic spellsAlmost I deem she mocks our gaze, for oftIn eager chase we scour each rustic pathAnd forest dell; yet not a trace betrayedThe lover's haunts, ne'er were the footsteps markedOf this mysterious fair.
DON MANUEL.The spell is broke!And all shall be revealed: now list my tale:—'Tis five months flown,—my father yet controlledThe land, and bowed our necks with iron sway;Little I knew but the wild joys of arms,And mimic warfare of the chase;—One day,—Long had we tracked the boar with zealous toilOn yonder woody ridge:—it chanced, pursuingA snow-white hind, far from your train I rovedAmid the forest maze;—the timid beast,Along the windings of the narrow vale,Through rocky cleft and thick-entangled brake,Flew onward, scarce a moment lost, nor distantBeyond a javelin's throw; nearer I came not,Nor took an aim; when through a garden's gate,Sudden she vanished:—from my horse quick springing,I followed:—lo! the poor scared creature layStretched at the feet of a young, beauteous nun,That strove with fond caress of her fair handsTo still its throbbing heart: wondering, I gazed;And motionless—my spear, in act to strike,High poised—while she, with her large piteous eyesFor mercy sued—and thus we stood in silenceRegarding one another.How long the pauseI know not—time itself forgot;—it seemedEternity of bliss: her glance of sweetnessFlew to my soul; and quick the subtle flamePervaded all my heart:—But what I spoke,And how this blessed creature answered, noneMay ask; it floats upon my thought, a dreamOf childhood's happy dawn! Soon as my senseReturned, I felt her bosom throb responsiveTo mine,—then fell melodious on my earThe sound, as of a convent bell, that calledTo vesper song; and, like some shadowy visionThat melts in air, she flitted from my sight,And was beheld no more.
Chorus (CAJETAN).Thy story thrillsMy breast with pious awe! Prince, thou hast robbedThe sanctuary, and for the bride of heavenBurned with unholy passion! Oh, rememberThe cloister's sacred vows!
DON MANUEL.Thenceforth one pathMy footsteps wooed; the fickle train was stillOf young desires—new felt my being's aim,My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turnsHis wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky,With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star;—So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence,My hopes and longings centred all. No sunSank in the western waves, but smiled farewellTo two united lovers:—thus in stillnessOur hearts were twined,—the all-seeing air above usAlone the faithful witness of our joys!Oh, golden hours! Oh, happy days! nor HeavenIndignant viewed our bliss;—no vows enchainedHer spotless soul; naught but the link which bound itEternally to mine!
Chorus (CAJETAN).Those hallowed walls,Perchance the calm retreat of tender youth,No living grave?
DON MANUEL.In infant innocenceConsigned a holy pledge, ne'er has she leftHer cloistered home.
Chorus (CAJETAN).But what her royal line?The noble only spring from noble stem.
DON MANUEL.A secret to herself,—she ne'er has learnedHer name or fatherland.
Chorus (CAJETAN).And not a traceGuides to her being's undiscovered springs?
DON MANUEL.An old domestic, the sole messengerSent by her unknown mother, oft bespeaks herOf kingly race.
Chorus (CAJETAN).And hast thou won naught elseFrom her garrulous age?
DON MANUEL.Too much I feared to perilMy secret bliss!
Chorus (CAJETAN).What were his words? What tidingsHe bore—perchance thou know'st.
DON MANUEL.Oft he has cheered herWith promise of a happier time, when allShall be revealed.
Chorus (CAJETAN).Oh, say—betokens aughtThe time is near?
DON MANUEL.Not distant far the dayThat to the arms of kindred love once moreShall give the long forsaken, orphaned maid—Thus with mysterious words the aged manHas shadowed oft what most I dread—for aweOf change disturbs the soul supremely blest:Nay, more; but yesterday his message spokeThe end of all my joys—this very dawn,He told, should smile auspicious on her fate,And light to other scenes—no precious hourDelayed my quick resolves—by night I bore herIn secret to Messina.
Chorus (CAJETAN).Rash the deedOf sacrilegious spoil! forgive, my prince,The bold rebuke; thus to unthinking youthOld age may speak in friendship's warning voice.
DON MANUEL.Hard by the convent of the Carmelites,In a sequestered garden's tranquil bound,And safe from curious eyes, I left her,—hasteningTo meet my brother: trembling there she countsThe slow-paced hours, nor deems how soon triumphantIn queenly state, high on the throne of fame,Messina shall behold my timid bride.For next, encompassed by your knightly train,With pomp of greatness in the festal show,Her lover's form shall meet her wondering gaze!Thus will I lead her to my mother; thus—While countless thousands on her passage waitAmid the loud acclaim—the royal brideShall reach my palace gates!
Chorus (CAJETAN).Command us, prince,We live but to obey!
DON MANUEL.I tore myselfReluctant from her arms; my every thoughtShall still be hers: so come along, my friends,To where the turbaned merchant spreads his storeOf fabrics golden wrought with curious art;And all the gathered wealth of eastern climes.First choose the well-formed sandals—meet to guardAnd grace her delicate feet; then for her robeThe tissue, pure as Etna's snow that liesNearest the sun-light as the wreathy mistAt summer dawn—so playful let it floatAbout her airy limbs. A girdle next,Purple with gold embroidered o'er, to bindWith witching grace the tunic that confinesHer bosom's swelling charms: of silk the mantle,Gorgeous with like empurpled hues, and fixedWith clasp of gold—remember, too, the braceletsTo gird her beauteous arms; nor leave the treasureOf ocean's pearly deeps and coral caves.About her locks entwine a diademOf purest gems—the ruby's fiery glowCommingling with the emerald's green. A veil,From her tiara pendent to her feet,Like a bright fleecy cloud shall circle roundHer slender form; and let a myrtle wreathCrown the enchanting whole!
Chorus (CAJETAN).We haste, my prince.Amid the Bazar's glittering rows, to cullEach rich adornment.
DON MANUEL.From my stables leadA palfrey, milk-white as the steeds that drawThe chariot of the sun; purple the housings,The bridle sparkling o'er with precious gems,For it shall bear my queen! Yourselves be readyWith trumpet's cheerful clang, in martial trainTo lead your mistress home: let two attend me,The rest await my quick return; and eachGuard well my secret purpose.
[He goes away accompanied by two of the CHORUS.
Chorus (CAJETAN).
The princely strife is o'er, and say,What sport shall wing the slow-paced hours,And cheat the tedious day?With hope and fear's enlivening zestDisturb the slumber of the breast,And wake life's dull, untroubled seaWith freshening airs of gay variety.
One of the Chorus (MANFRED).
Lovely is peace! A beauteous boy,Couched listless by the rivulet's glassy tide,'Mid nature's tranquil scene,He views the lambs that skip with innocent joy,And crop the meadow's flowering pride:—Then with his flute's enchanting sound,He wakes the mountain echoes round,Or slumbers in the sunset's ruddy sheen,Lulled by the murmuring melody.But war for me! my spirit's treasure,Its, stern delight, and wilder pleasure:I love the peril and the pain,And revel in the surge of fortune's boisterous main!
A second (BERENGAR).
Is there not love, and beauty's smileThat lures with soft, resistless wile?'Tis thrilling hope! 'tis rapturous fear'Tis heaven upon this mortal sphere;When at her feet we bend the knee,And own the glance of kindred ecstasyFor ever on life's checkered way,'Tis love that tints the darkening hues of careWith soft benignant ray:The mirthful daughter of the wave,Celestial Venus ever fair,Enchants our happy spring with fancy's gleam,And wakes the airy forms of passion's golden dream.
First (MANFRED).
To the wild woods away!Quick let us follow in the trainOf her, chaste huntress of the silver bow;And from the rocks amainTrack through the forest gloom the bounding roe,The war-god's merry bride,The chase recalls the battle's fray,And kindles victory's pride:—Up with the streaks of early morn,We scour with jocund hearts the misty vale,Loud echoing to the cheerful hornOver mountain—over dale—And every languid sense repair,Bathed in the rushing streams of cold, reviving air.
Second (BERENGAR).
Or shall we trust the ever-moving sea,The azure goddess, blithe and free.Whose face, the mirror of the cloudless sky,Lures to her bosom wooingly?Quick let us build on the dancing wavesA floating castle gay,And merrily, merrily, swim away!Who ploughs with venturous keel the brineOf the ocean crystalline—His bride is fortune, the world his own,For him a harvest blooms unsown:—Here, like the wind that swift careersThe circling bound of earth and sky,Flits ever-changeful destiny!Of airy chance 'tis the sportive reign,And hope ever broods on the boundless main
A third (CAJETAN).
Nor on the watery waste aloneOf the tumultuous, heaving sea;—On the firm earth that sleeps secure,Based on the pillars of eternity.Say, when shall mortal joy endure?New bodings in my anxious breast,Waked by this sudden friendship, rise;Ne'er would I choose my home of restOn the stilled lava-stream, that coldBeneath the mountain liesNot thus was discord's flame controlled—Too deep the rooted hate—too longThey brooded in their sullen heartsO'er unforgotten, treasured wrong. In warning visions oft dismayed,I read the signs of coming woe;And now from this mysterious maidMy bosom tells the dreaded ills shall flow:Unblest, I deem, the bridal chainShall knit their secret loves, accursedWith holy cloisters' spoil profane.No crooked paths to virtue lead;Ill fruit has ever sprung from evil seed!
BERENGAR.And thus to sad unhallowed ritesOf an ill-omened nuptial tie,Too well ye know their father boreA bride of mournful destiny,Torn from his sire, whose awful curse has spedHeaven's vengeance on the impious bed!This fierce, unnatural rage atonesA parent's crime—decreed by fate,Their mother's offspring, strife and hate!
[The scene changes to a garden opening on the sea.
BEATRICE (steps forward from an alcove. She walks to and fro with anagitated air, looking round in every direction. Suddenly shestands still and listens).No! 'tis not he: 'twas but the playful windRustling the pine-tops. To his ocean bedThe sun declines, and with o'erwearied heartI count the lagging hours: an icy chillCreeps through my frame; the very solitudeAnd awful silence fright my trembling soul!Where'er I turn naught meets my gaze—he leaves meForsaken and alone!And like a rushing stream the city's humFloats on the breeze, and dull the mighty seaRolls murmuring to the rocks: I shrink to nothingWith horrors compassed round; and like the leaf,Borne on the autumn blast, am hurried onwardThrough boundless space.Alas! that e'er I leftMy peaceful cell—no cares, no fond desiresDisturbed my breast, unruffled as the streamThat glides in sunshine through the verdant mead:Nor poor in joys. Now—on the mighty surgeOf fortune, tempest-tossed—the world enfolds meWith giant arms! Forgot my childhood's tiesI listened to the lover's flattering tale—Listened, and trusted! From the sacred domeAllured—betrayed—for sure some hell-born magicEnchained my frenzied sense—I fled with him,The invader of religion's dread abodes!Where art thou, my beloved? Haste—return—With thy dear presence calm my struggling soul!
[She listens.
Hark! the sweet voice! No! 'twas the echoing surgeThat beats upon the shore; alas! he comes not.More faintly, o'er the distant waves, the sunGleams with expiring ray; a deathlike shudderCreeps to my heart, and sadder, drearier growsE'en desolation's self.
[She walks to and fro, and then listens again.
Yes! from the thicket shadeA voice resounds! 'tis he! the loved one!No fond illusion mocks my listening ear.'Tis louder—nearer: to his arms I fly—To his breast!
[She rushes with outstretched arms to the extremityof the garden. DON CAESAR meets her.
BEATRICE (starting back in horror)What do I see?
[At the same moment the Chorus comes forward.
DON CAESAR.Angelic sweetness! fear not.[To the Chorus.Retire! your gleaming arms and rude arrayAffright the timorous maid.[To BEATRICE.Fear nothing! beautyAnd virgin shame are sacred in my eyes.
[The Chorus steps aside. He approaches and takes her hand.
Where hast thou been? for sure some envious powerHas hid thee from my gaze: long have I sought thee:E'en from the hour when 'mid the funeral ritesOf the dead prince, like some angelic vision,Lit with celestial brightness, on my sightThou shonest, no other image in my breastWaking or dreaming, lives; nor to thyselfUnknown thy potent spells; my glance of fire,My faltering accents, and my hand that layTrembling in thine, bespoke my ecstasy!Aught else with solemn majesty the riteAnd holy place forbade:The bell proclaimedThe awful sacrifice! With downcast eyes,And kneeling I adored: soon as I rose,And caught with eager gaze thy form again,Sudden it vanished; yet, with mighty magicOf love enchained, my spirit tracked thy presence;Nor ever, with unwearied quest, I ceaseAt palace gates, amid the temple's throng,In secret paths retired, or public scenes,Where beauteous innocence perchance might rove,To mark each passing form—in vain; but, guidedBy some propitious deity this dayOne of my train, with happy vigilance,Espied thee in the neighboring church.
[BEATRICE, who had stood trembling with averted eyes,here makes a gesture of terror.
I see theeOnce more; and may the spirit from this frameBe severed ere we part! Now let me snatchThis glad, auspicious moment, and defyOr chance, or envious demon's power, to shakeHenceforth my solid bliss; here I proclaim thee,Before this listening warlike train my bride,With pledge of knightly honors![He shows her to the Chorus.Who thou art,I ask not: thou art mine! But that thy soulAnd birth are pure alike one glance informedMy inmost heart; and though thy lot were mean,And poor thy lowly state, yet would I strain theeWith rapture to my arms: no choice remains,Thou art my love—my wife! Know too, that liftedOn fortune's height, I spurn control; my willCan raise thee to the pinnacle of greatness—Enough my name—I am Don Caesar! NoneIs nobler in Messina!
[BEATRICE starts back in amazement. He remarks her agitation,and after a pause continues.
What a graceLives in thy soft surprise and modest silence!Yes! gentle humbleness is beauty's crown—The beautiful forever hid, and shrinkingFrom its own lustre: but thy spirit needsRepose, for aught of strange—e'en sudden joy—Is terror-fraught. I leave thee.
[Turning to the Chorus.From this hourShe is your mistress, and my bride; so teach herWith honors due to entertain the pompOf queenly state. I will return with speed,And lead her home as fits Messina's princess.
[He goes away.
BEATRICE and the Chorus.
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Fair maiden—hail to theeThou lovely queen!Thine is the crown, and thine the victory!Of heroes to a distant age,The blooming mother thou shalt shine,Preserver of this kingly line.
And thrice I bid thee hail,Thou happy fair!Sent in auspicious hour to blessThis favored race—the god's peculiar care.Here twine the immortal wreaths of fameAnd evermore, from sire to son,Rolls on the sceptered sway,To heirs of old renown, a race of deathless name!
The household gods exultinglyThy coming wait;The ancient, honored sires,That on the portals frown sedate,Shall smile for thee!There blooming Hebe shall thy steps attend;And golden victory, that sitsBy Jove's eternal throne, with waving plumesFor conquest ever spread,To welcome thee from heaven descend.
Ne'er from this queenly, bright arrayThe crown of beauty fades,Departing to the realms of day,Each to the next, as good and fair,Extends the zone of feminine grace,And veil of purity:—Oh, happy race!What vision glads my raptured eye!Equal in nature's blooming pride,I see the mother and the virgin bride.
BEATRICE (awaking from her reverie).
Oh, luckless hour!Alas! ill-fated maid!Where shall I flyFrom these rude warlike men?Lost and betrayed!A shudder o'er me came,When of this race accursed—the brothers twain—Their hands embrued with kindred gore,I heard the dreaded name;Oft told, their strife and serpent hateWith terror thrilled lay bosom's core:—And now—oh, hapless fate!I tremble, 'mid the rage of discord thrown,Deserted and alone!
[She runs into the alcove.
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Son of the immortal deities,And blest is he, the lord of power;His every joy the world can give;Of all that mortals prizeHe culls the flower.
For him from ocean's azure cavesThe diver bears each pearl of purest ray;Whate'er from nature's boundless fieldOr toil or art has won,Obsequious at his feet we lay;His choice is ever free;We bow to chance, and fortune's blind decree.
But this of princes' lot I deemThe crowning treasure, joy supreme—Of love the triumph and the prize,The beauty, star of neighboring eyes!She blooms for him alone,He calls the fairest maid his own.
Armed for the deadly fray,The corsair bounds upon the strand,And drags, amid the gloom of night, away,The shrieking captive train,Of wild desires the hapless prey;But ne'er his lawless hands profaneThe gem—the peerless flower—Whose charms shall deck the Sultan's bower.
Now haste and watch, with curious eye,These hallowed precincts round,That no presumptuous foot come nighThe secret, solitary groundGuard well the maiden fair,Your chieftain's brightest jewel owns your care.
[The Chorus withdraws to the background.
[The scene changes to a chamber in the interior of the palace.DONNA ISABELLA between DON MANUEL and DON CAESAR.
ISABELLA.The long-expected, festal day is come,My children's hearts are twined in one, as thusI fold their hands. Oh, blissful hour, when firstA mother dares to speak in nature's voice,And no rude presence checks the tide of love.The clang of arms affrights mine ear no more;And as the owls, ill-omened brood of night,From some old, shattered homestead's ruined walls,Their ancient reign, fly forth a dusky swarm,Darkening the cheerful day; when absent long,The dwellers home return with joyous shouts,To build the pile anew; so Hate departsWith all his grisly train; pale Envy, scowling Malice,And hollow-eyed Suspicion; from our gates,Hoarse murmuring, to the realms of night; while Peace,By Concord and fair Friendship led along,Comes smiling in his place.[She pauses.But not aloneThis day of joy to each restores a brother;It brings a sister! Wonderstruck you gaze!Yet now the truth, in silence guarded long,Bursts from my soul. Attend! I have a daughter!A sister lives, ordained by heaven to bind yeWith ties unknown before.
DON CAESAR.We have a sister!What hast thou said, my mother? never toldHer being till this hour!
DON MANUEL.In childhood's years,Oft of a sister we have heard, untimelySnatched in her cradle by remorseless death;So ran the tale.
ISABELLA.She lives!
DON CAESAR.And thou wert silent!
ISABELLA.Hear how the seed was sown in early time,That now shall ripen to a joyful harvest.Ye bloomed in boyhood's tender age; e'en thenBy mutual, deadly hate, the bitter springOf grief to this torn, anxious heart, dissevered;Oh, may your strife return no more! A vision,Strange and mysterious, in your father's breastWoke dire presage: it seemed that from his couch,With branches intertwined, two laurels grew,And in the midst a lily all in flames,That, catching swift the boughs and knotted stems,Burst forth with crackling rage, and o'er the houseSpread in one mighty sea of fire: perplexedBy this terrific dream, my husband soughtAn Arab, skilled to read the stars, and longThe trusted oracle, whose counsels swayedHis inmost purpose: thus the boding sageSpoke Fate's decrees: if I a daughter bore,Destruction to his sons and all his raceFrom her should spring. Soon, by heaven's will, this childOf dreadful omen saw the light; your sireCommanded instant in the waves to throwThe new-born innocent; a mother's lovePrevailed, and, aided by a faithful servant,I snatched the babe from death.
DON CAESAR.Blest be the handsThe ministers of thy care! Oh, ever richOf counsels was a parent's love!
ISABELLA.But moreThan Nature's mighty voice, a warning dreamImpelled to save my child: while yet unbornShe slumbered in my womb, sleeping I sawAn infant, fair as of celestial kind,That played upon the grass; soon from the woodA lion rushed, and from his gory jaws,Caressing, in the infant's lap let fallHis prey, new-caught; then through the air down sweptAn eagle, and with fond caress alikeDropped from his claws a trembling kid, and bothCowered at the infant's feet, a gentle pair.A monk, the saintly guide whose counsels pouredIn every earthly need, the balm of heavenUpon my troubled soul, my dream resolved.Thus spoke the man of God: a daughter, sentTo knit the warring spirits of my sonsIn bonds of tender love, should recompenseA mother's pains! Deep in my heart I treasuredHis words, and, reckless of the Pagan seer,Preserved the blessed child, ordained of heavenTo still your growing strife; sweet pledge of hopeAnd messenger of peace!
DON MANUEL (embracing his brother).There needs no sisterTo join our hearts; she shall but bind them closer.
ISABELLA.In a lone spot obscure, by stranger handsNurtured, the secret flower has grown; to meDenied the joy to mark each infant charmAnd opening grace from that sad hour of parting;These arms ne'er clasped my child again! her sire,To jealousy's corroding fears a prey,And brooding dark suspicion, restless trackedEach day my steps.
DON CAESAR.Yet three months flown, my fatherSleeps in the tranquil grave; say, whence delayedThe joyous tidings? Why so long concealedThe maid, nor earlier taught our hearts to glowWith brother's love?
ISABELLA.The cause, your frenzied hate,That raging unconfined, e'en on the tombOf your scarce buried father, lit the flamesOf mortal strife. What! could I throw my daughterBetwixt your gleaming blades? Or 'mid the stormOf passion would ye list a woman's counsels?Could she, sweet pledge of peace, of all our hopesThe last and holy anchor, 'mid the rageOf discord find a home? Ye stand as brothers,So will I give a sister to your arms!The reconciling angel comes; each hourI wait my messenger's return; he leads herFrom her sequestered cell, to glad once moreA mother's eyes.
DON MANUEL.Nor her alone this dayThy arms shall fold; joy pours through all our gates;Soon shall the desolate halls be full, the seatOf every blooming grace. Now hear my secret:A sister thou hast given; to thee I bringA daughter; bless thy son! My heart has foundIts lasting shrine: ere this day's sun has setDon Manuel to thy feet shall lead his bride,The partner of his days.
ISABELLA.And to my breastWith transport will I clasp the chosen maidThat makes my first-born happy. Joy shall springWhere'er she treads, and every flower that bloomsAround the path of life smile in her presence!May bliss reward the son, that for my browsHas twined the choicest wreath a mother wears.
DON CAESAR.Yet give not all the fulness of thy blessingTo him, thy eldest born. If love be blest,I, too, can give thee joy. I bring a daughter,Another flower for thy most treasured garland!The maid that in this ice-cold bosom firstAwoke the rapturous flame! Ere yonder sunDeclines, Don Caesar's bride shall call thee mother.
DON MANUEL.Almighty Love! thou godlike power—for wellWe call thee sovereign of the breast! Thy swayControls each warring element, and tunesTo soft accord; naught lives but owns thy greatness.Lo! the rude soul that long defied thee meltsAt thy command![He embraces DON CAESAR.Now I can trust thy heart,And joyful strain thee to a brother's arms!I doubt thy faith no more, for thou canst love!
ISABELLA.Thrice blest the day, when every gloomy careFrom my o'erlabored breast has flown. I seeOn steadfast columns reared our kingly race,And with contented spirit track the streamOf measureless time. In these deserted halls,Sad in my widow's veil, but yesterdayChildless I roamed; and soon, in youthful charmsArrayed, three blooming daughters at my sideShall stand! Oh, happiest mother! Chief of women,In bliss supreme; can aught of earthly joyO'erbalance thine?But say, of royal stem,What maidens grace our isle? For ne'er my sonsWould stoop to meaner brides.
DON MANUEL.Seek not to raiseThe veil that hides my bliss; another dayShall tell thee all. Enough—Don Manuel's brideIs worthy of thy son and thee.
ISABELLA.Thy sireSpeaks in thy words; thus to himself retiredForever would he brood o'er counsels dark,And cloak his secret purpose;—your delayBe short, my son.[Turning to DON CAESAR.But thou—some royal maid,Daughter of kings, hath stirred thy soul to love;So speak—her name——