 | King René's Daughter |  |
138
SCENE V.
Iolanthe, Martha, afterwards King René and Ebn Jahia, then Almerik.Mar.
(enters from behind the house, and advances rapidly, on seeing Iolanthe).
Dear child!
Great heaven! How come you thus awake, and here?
Io.
Oh, Martha, come to me! Where have you been?
Mar.
Afield among the servants. But explain—
Who—who awoke you?
Io.
Of myself I woke.
Mar.
How! Of yourself?
Io.
No otherwise know I.
But list—as yet you know not—Here have been
Strange guests!
Mar.
You mock me! Who were they?
Io.
Two strangers whom I did not know at all,
And who, besides, were never here before.
It was such pity you had gone away!
Mar.
You dream, my child. Two strangers? Whence and how?
It cannot be!
Io.
Whence did the strangers come?
I asked not that; for you have charged me oft,
That I with questionings should not torment
Our visitors.
Mar.
Who were they, then, my child?
Io.
Indeed, I do not know.
Mar.
Were you alone, then?
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I called on you, but yet you heard me not.
Mar.
(aside).
Heavens! Was it possible? (Aloud.)
Say on, my child!
Io.
Ah, Martha, none e'er came to us before,
Like these two strangers—like, at least, to one.
It cannot surely be, but that he comes
From some fair land of marvel, different quite
From this our land. For potent was his speech,
Yet gentle and affectionate as thine.
(King René and Ebn Jahia enter unobserved through the concealed door, and remain listening in the background.)
He gave me greeting with a song. Oh, Martha!
A song that teemed with meanings marvellous;
It charmed the tears into mine eyes, although
I scarcely fathomed half of what it meant.
Mar.
Be calm, my love! (Aside.)
What am I doomed to hear?
(Aloud.)
But tell me, pray, of what he spoke with thee?
Io.
Of much—oh much! to me both new and strange;
Knowledge had he of many, many things,
Whereof before I never heard. He said—
Yet I, alack! could comprehend him not—
He said, we could distinguish many things
With—with the help of sight.
Mar.
(aside).
O God!
Io.
Dost thou
Know what he meant by this?
Mar.
(observes the King and Ebn Jahia).
Great heaven! the king!
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(advances).
My child!
Io.
(falling on his neck).
My own beloved father, art thou here?
René.
Thy tutor, Ebn Jahia, comes with me.
Io.
He too! Where is he? Let me give you welcome!
(Ebn Jahia gives her his hand.)
René
(takes Martha aside, while Ebn Jahia converses with Iolanthe).
What has occurred?
Mar.
O God! I do not know.
In full reliance, that she could not wake,
Till she was wakened up, we left the house
While she lay sleeping. But the while—so she
Maintains, although 'tis scarcely possible,
Some stranger has been here, and talked with her.
René.
Imprudent haste! When I went after him,
I did not mark to close the door behind me.
Well, Martha, and this stranger?
Mar.
He has spoken—
So far as I can gather from the maze,
Wherein she still doth wander—of her blindness.
René.
How! Of her blindness! Well, 'tis Heaven's decree,
That she beforehand should be made aware!
So be it! (Beckons to Ebn Jahia.)
Ebn Jahia, hast thou heard?
Ebn J.
This accident was fortunate indeed.
A stranger woke her. Here upon the table
I found the amulet. Yet what she heard
Of her condition, is but dark to her.
I must require that she be fully told,
As you agreed.
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My resolution's taken. (Approaches Iolanthe.)
Lend me thine ear attentively, my child!
No longer may it be hidden, that thy life
Hath reached a climax, that will task thy firmness.
Wilt thou with patience hear me? Patiently,
If unexpected sorrow wound thy soul,
Learn to endure this sorrow?
Io.
Father, say on!
It will be less severe, if from thy lips
It come to me.
René.
Then listen, Iolanthe.
I know not what the stranger said to thee;
Yet I surmise, he told thee—what with care
We have till now concealed—that to thy soul
There lacks one potent instrument, to grasp
The world that lies around thee; and 'tis true!
For what thou lackest is the gift of sight.
Io.
Even so; and yet I understood him not.
René.
Then learn from me: There is a certain power,
Which men do call the light. Like wind and storm,
It doth descend unto us from above,
And, like to these, with swiftness uncontrolled.
The objects, which it touches, gain a new
Significance, and a peculiar stamp,
And oftentimes with warmth 'tis closely blent.
'Tis through the eye it finds its way to us,
And by the power of seeing it we gain
A true perception of the universe,
As it went forth from the Creator's hand,
And apprehend His wisdom and His goodness.
What thou by slow degrees and toilsome pain,
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Gives us to see and recognise with ease,
By its consistence and peculiar form.
(With emotion.)
Early thine eye the power of vision lost,
And this fair frame of earth, this radiant realm,
To thee, my darling child, was early closed—
And all our care could scantly compensate
The loss, which thou in infancy sustained:
All we could do was, from thee still to ward
The shock and burden of intrusive cares,
And hide from thee their bitter origin.
Io.
Ah, father! These are wondrous words—to me
Incomprehensible. The universe,
How it came forth from the Creator's hand,
Knew I not that? Was this shut up from me?
How canst thou say so? My Creator, have I
Not recognised Him in the universe?
Hath not the roaring blast, the zephyr's breath—
Hath not the warmth, that circles everywhere,
The earth's so fit arrangement, and its power
To nurture plants with blossom and with fruits—
Hath not stone, metal, and the flowing streams,
The choir of sweet birds' voices, shown me well
The great Creator in the universe?
And have I not by thee, even as by all
That's dear to me, been taught to comprehend
What our Creator with the world designed?
Even I am an expression of His will.
Where'er I turn—in nature, in the speech
Of others, in the depths of mine own being,
In thoughts that spring from thoughts, an endless chain,
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And of His glory loudly testifies.
René
(aside to Ebn Jahia).
Ah, Ebn Jahia, this so lovely faith,
We have destroyed it!
Io.
Explain one thing to me!
I with my eyes, it seems, should grasp the world.
Yon stranger, too, who lately was with me,
And whose strange words are stamped so deeply here,
He spoke of sight. What is it, then, to see?
Can I, O father, see his voice, which touched
My soul with joy and sadness? Can I see
With these mine eyes the nightingale's thick note,
Whereon I've mused so oft, and vainly striven
To follow it in thought away, away?—
Or is her song a flower, whose fragrant breath
I know, but not its root, and stem, and leaves?
René.
Oh, my dear child, each of thy questions fills
My soul with agony. Trust, love, to me,
And leave it to a happier time, to show
What now to thee must be inexplicable.
One thing, however, know. I have a hope,
The hope, which hath sustained me until now,
That yet thy sight may be restored to thee:
That thy dear eyes may open once again
To the glad sunbeams; and oh, grant it, Heaven!
Thy noble friend and tutor, Ebn Jahia,
With his rare leechcraft hath been long preparing
The favourable hour to test our hopes.
Now is it come, my own, my darling child!
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Martha shall wait upon thee.—At the first
Thou'lt sink into a slumber—and from that
If so it be Heaven's gracious will—aroused—
(Is stifled with emotion.)
Io.
What ails thee, father? Wherefore shakes thy hand?
My own dear father, joy'st thou not, that now
The hour has come, thou'st panted for so long?
Thou fearest it will prove unfortunate.
Yet even then shall I not be, as ever,
Thy child, thine own dear child—thy child, who joys
To be so dear—joys in her happy lot?
Let me go in, then—
René.
Oh, my child, my child!
Io.
Nay, do not fear! For what my sage kind master
Has pondered well, will prosper, I am sure.
It feels to me, as though even now I knew
The singular power which thou hast called the light,
And it had found its way to me already.
Ah, while that wondrous stranger was beside me,
A feeling quivered through me, which I ne'er
Had known before, and every word he spoke
Resounded like an echo in my soul,
With new and unimagined melodies.
—Didst thou not say, the power of light is swift,
And gives significance to what it touches?
That it is also closely blent with warmth—
With the heart's warmth? Oh, I know it is.
If what thou call'st the light consist in this,
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Revealed to me to-day. Yet on one point
Thou dost mistake. 'Tis not the eye that sees;
Here, close beside the heart, our vision lies;
Here is it seated in remembrance sweet,
A reflex of the light that pierced my soul,
The light I go with bounding hope to meet!
(Exit into the house with Martha.)
René.
(to Ebn Jahia, who is about to follow).
Stay, Ebn Jahia! Canst understand all this?
Where is the stranger, who intruded thus
Upon her bosom's peace? How to myself
Can I explain these passion-laden words?
What thinkest thou?
Ebn J.
Not easily explained
Is the full climax of a woman's mood,
And this, I own, goes counter to my plans.
René.
Explain thyself!
Ebn J.
Suppose her thoughts are bent
To rest upon this stranger—then, 'twould seem,
That he controls her, and I strongly doubt
A happy issue to my art. And yet
In this conjuncture two desires may meet,
Which, blent in intimate communion, may
Strive to one end with like intensity.
In this hope I may rest—but only feebly.
(Exit into the house.)
René.
Who could it be, was here? Unless Bertrand
Should chance to know—
(Enter Almerik through the concealed door.)
My Almerik! Thou here?
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I bring a letter for my liege.
René.
From Tristan?
(Breaks open the seal.)
It is from him. What do I see? Come hither!
He breaks with me. He wishes to undo
Our solemn contract.
Al.
How! Undo the contract?
René.
(reading).
Amazement! He admits him in the wrong,
And leaves to me to dictate the amends;
Yet—he repudiates my daughter's hand.
Al.
Matchless audacity!
René.
Ah, Almerik,
This is the fate that dogs me evermore.
An evil portent this, I fear me much,
For what this hour may bring. These nuptials,
Whereon I had the fairest visions reared,
Unconsciously were wedded with the hope,
That Iolanthe should regain her sight.
One hope is gone—a little time may see
The other crushed. Yet no! I will not stoop
To foolish fond lamentings! Let that come,
Which Heaven in wisdom hath ordained for us!
Who brought the letter?
Al.
One of Geoffrey's people,
Who said, that Tristan now was lodged with him.
René.
With Geoffrey? Well, there still, perchance, is hope.
Perchance he may—But yet—What noise is that?
The clash of arms resounding from the pass!
Al.
(approaches the door).
They force an entrance—
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Force? Injurious knaves!
Al.
A handful of our people—
René.
Out with your sword!
They shall not flout King René unchastised.
| King René's Daughter | |