The Bride of Messina - Friedrich Schiller (best books to read for women .txt) 📗

advance to the front.

ISABELLA.
As yet no joyful tidings, not a trace
Found of the lost one!

DIEGO.
Nothing have we heard,
My mistress; yet o'er every track, unwearied,
Thy sons pursue. Ere long the rescued maid
Shall smile at dangers past.

ISABELLA.
Alas! Diego,
My heart is sad; 'twas I that caused this woe!

DIEGO.
Vex not thy anxious bosom; naught escaped
Thy thoughtful care.

ISABELLA.
Oh! had I earlier shown
The hidden treasure!

DIEGO.
Prudent were thy counsels,
Wisely thou left'st her in retirement's shade;
So, trust in heaven.

ISABELLA.
Alas! no joy is perfect
Without this chance of ill my bliss were pure.

DIEGO.
Thy happiness is but delayed; enjoy
The concord of thy sons.

ISABELLA.
The sight was rapture
Supreme, when, locked in one another's arms,
They glowed with brothers' love.

DIEGO.
And in the heart
It burns; for ne'er their princely souls have stooped
To mean disguise.

ISABELLA.
Now, too, their bosoms wake
To gentler thoughts, and own their softening sway
Of love. No more their hot, impetuous youth
Revels in liberty untamed, and spurns
Restraint of law, attempered passion's self,
With modest, chaste reserve.
To thee, Diego,
I will unfold my secret heart; this hour
Of feeling's opening bloom, expected long,
Wakes boding fears: thou know'st to sudden rage
Love stirs tumultuous breasts; and if this flame
With jealousy should rouse the slumbering fires
Of ancient hate - I shudder at the thought!
If these discordant souls perchance have thrilled
In fatal unison! Enough; the clouds
That black with thundering menace o'er me hung
Are past; some angel sped them tranquil by,
And my enfranchised spirit breathes again.

DIEGO.
Rejoice, my mistress; for thy gentle sense
And soft, prevailing art more weal have wrought
Than all thy husband's power. Be praise to thee
And thy auspicious star!

ISABELLA.
Yes, fortune smiled;
Nor light the task, so long with apt disguise
To veil the cherished secret of my heart,
And cheat my ever-jealous lord: more hard
To stifle mighty nature's pleading voice,
That, like a prisoned fire, forever strove
To rend its confines.

DIEGO.
All shall yet be well;
Fortune, propitious to our hopes, gave pledge
Of bliss that time will show.

ISABELLA.
I praise not yet
My natal star, while darkening o'er my fate
This mystery hangs: too well the dire mischance
Tells of the fiend whose never-slumbering rage
Pursues our house. Now list what I have done,
And praise or blame me as thou wilt; from thee
My bosom guards no secret: ill I brook
This dull repose, while swift o'er land and sea
My sons unwearied, track their sister's flight,
Yes, I have sought; heaven counsels oft, when vain
All mortal aid.

DIEGO.
What I may know, my mistress,
Declare.

ISABELLA.
On Etna's solitary height
A reverend hermit dwells, - benamed of old
The mountain seer, - who to the realms of light
More near abiding than the toilsome race
Of mortals here below, with purer air
Has cleansed each earthly, grosser sense away;
And from the lofty peak of gathered years,
As from his mountain home, with downward glance
Surveys the crooked paths of worldly strife.
To him are known the fortunes of our house;
Oft has the holy sage besought response
From heaven, and many a curse with earnest prayer
Averted: thither at my bidding flew,
On wings of youthful haste, a messenger,
To ask some tidings of my child: each hour
I wait his homeward footsteps.

DIEGO.
If mine eyes
Deceive me not, he comes; and well his speed
Has earned thy praise.

MESSENGER, ISABELLA, DIEGO.

ISABELLA (to MESSENGER).
Now speak, and nothing hide
Of weal or woe; be truth upon thy lips!
What tidings bear'st thou from the mountain seer?

MESSENGER.
His answer: "Quick! retrace thy steps; the lost one
Is found."

ISABELLA.
Auspicious tongue! Celestial sounds
Of peace and joy! thus ever to my vows.
Thrice honored sage, thy kindly message spoke!
But say, which heaven-directed brother traced
My daughter?

MESSENGER.
'Twas thy eldest born that found
The deep-secluded maid.

ISABELLA.
Is it Don Manuel
That gives her to my arms? Oh, he was ever
The child of blessing! Tell me, hast thou borne
My offering to the aged man? the tapers
To burn before his saint? for gifts, the prize
Of worldly hearts, the man of God disdains.

MESSENGER.
He took the torches from my hands in silence
And stepping to the altar - where the lamp
Burned to his saint - illumed them at his fire,
And instant set in flames the hermit cell,
Where he has honored God these ninety years!

ISABELLA.
What hast thou said? What horrors fright my soul?

MESSENGER.
And three times shrieking "Woe!" with downward course,
He fled; but silent with uplifted arm
Beckoned me not to follow, nor regard him
So hither I have hastened, terror-sped.

ISABELLA.
Oh, I am tossed amid the surge again
Of doubt and anxious fears; thy tale appals
With ominous sounds of ill. My daughter found -
Thou sayest; and by my eldest born, Don Manuel?
The tidings ne'er shall bless, that heralded
This deed of woe!

MESSENGER.
My mistress! look around
Behold the hermit's message to thine eyes
Fulfilled. Some charm deludes my sense, or hither
Thy daughter comes, girt by the warlike train
Of thy two sons!

[BEATRICE is carried in by the Second Chorus on a litter,
and placed in the front of the stage. She is still without
perception, and motionless.

ISABELLA, DIEGO, MESSENGER, BEATRICE.

Chorus (BOHEMUND, ROGER, HIPPOLYTE, and the other nine followers
of DON CAESAR.)

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Here at thy feet we lay
The maid, obedient to our lord's command:
'Twas thus he spoke - "Conduct her to my mother;
And tell her that her son, Don Caesar, sends her!"

ISABELLA (is advancing towards her with outstretched arms, and starts
back in horror).
Heavens! she is motionless and pale!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
She lives,
She will awake, but give her time to rouse
From the dread shock that holds each sense enthralled.

ISABELLA.
My daughter! Child of all my cares and pains!
And is it thus I see thee once again?
Thus thou returnest to thy father's halls!
Oh, let my breath relume thy vital spark;
Yes! I will strain thee to a mother's arms
And hold thee fast - till from the frost of death
Released thy life-warm current throbs again.

[To the Chorus.

Where hast thou found her? Speak! What dire mischance
Has caused this sight of woe?

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
My lips are dumb!
Ask not of me: thy son will tell thee all -
Don Caesar - for 'tis he that sends her.

ISABELLA
'Tell me
Would'st thou not say Don Manuel?

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
'Tis Don Caesar
That sends her to thee.

ISABELLA (to the MESSENGER).
How declared the Seer?
Speak! Was it not Don Manuel?

MESSENGER.
'Twas he!
Thy elder born.

ISABELLA.
Be blessings on his head
Which e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter,
Alas! that in this blissful hour, so long
Expected, long implored, some envious fiend
Should mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tide
Of nature's transport! In her childhood's home
I see my daughter; me she knows not - heeds not -
Nor answers to a mother's voice of love
Ope, ye dear eyelids - hands be warm - and heave
Thou lifeless bosom with responsive throbs
To mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice!
The long-concealed - the lost - the rescued one!
Before the world I claim her for my own!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).
New signs of terror to my boding soul
Are pictured; - in amazement lost I stand!
What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery?

ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion and
embarrassment).
Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men!
A mother's transport from your breast of steel
Rebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge!
I look around your train, nor mark one glance
Of soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell me
Why come they not, and from their beaming eyes
Speak comfort to my soul? For here environed
I stand amid the desert's raging brood,
Or monsters of the deep!

DIEGO.
She opes her eyes!
She moves! She lives!

ISABELLA.
She lives! On me be thrown
Her earliest glance!

DIEGO.
See! They are closed again -
She shudders!

ISABELLA (to the Chorus).
Quick! Retire - your aspect frights her.

[Chorus steps back.

RORER.
Well pleased I shun her sight.

DIEGO.
With outstretched eyes,
And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee.

BEATRICE.
Not strange those lineaments - where am I?

ISABELLA.
Slowly
Her sense returns.

DIEGO.
Behold! upon her knees
She sinks.

BEATRICE.
Oh, angel visage of my mother!

ISABELLA.