 | Gemma of The Isles |  |
Scene VIII.
—The Deck of Harold's Galley.Harold, Gemma, Thorbrand, Sigurd, and others.
Har.
See, this broad banner from thy head will screen
The blazing sunshine! Rest in peace beneath it—
In silence if thou wilt! And not one word then,
Not one, for thy true friends, my comrades tried,
All ready here to die for thee and me?
Here's Thorbrand, whom thou knowst—my other self—
And Rolf, and Sigurd—nay, my faithful dog,
Poor Jutun! thou didst love him once, e'en him!
Never before did he beseech in vain,
With those fond eyes, a kind caress from thee.
Thor.
The wind is freshening fast. See how yon sail
Stands out already from the purple wall
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Is on our track betimes.
Sig.
Good speed to him!
Harold is ready—so is this right arm!
I feel a happy thrill from head to foot,
As though mine axe were thundering its warm greeting
Down on those raven curls that won the heart
Of giddy little Gemma.
Thor.
Come, you must not
Dream of forestalling Harold's darling vengeance,
His heart would break if any man but he
Should touch a hair upon Lorenzo's head.
Harold!
Sig.
He does not hear, not he! His eyes
See only Gemma, and hers only see
The land we leave behind us. Oh, rare sport
Was ours, last night, upon that very shore,
To see those gaudy dancers break their chain,
And dart away to right and left with shrieks,
Like screaming sea-fowl startled from their nests!
Thor.
And, rarer still, when like mad bulls we burst
On Gemma's gilded soldiers, at their dice,
And trampled their gay trappings in the dust!
Sig.
And then the great rush up to Gemma's doors!
When they crashed open to our Harold's axe,
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From end to end through all those lighted rooms,
Crowded with frightened women dressed like queens!
And oh, poor Gemma......
Thor.
How she stood transfixed,
Between those pillars—I can see her now!
Just as she stepped in from the balcony,
Half ghost-like in that robe of silvery blue
Some witch has wove for her—with her wide eyes,
All one astonished flash like a mad skald's,
Fastened on Harold's face.
Sig.
Poor, foolish child!
I am glad we have her back. I noted too
That other splendid one, with gold-bound forehead,
And spreading robes, so snow-pale, proud and trembling—
I thought she almost smiled with her white lips,
As she leaned back upon her couch and stared
Before her straight at Harold......
Thor.
You forget not
That other day when we, young wolves of war,
Ran wild o'er that same palace—up the stairs
At Harold's heels came thund'ring—years ago!
Sig.
Do I so? Little, weeping, tiny Gemma
That day had soon been trampled out of life,
Unseen, unheeded, but for Harold's care.
And I remember how I laughed to see
The baby in his arms!
Thor.
Look at her now!
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How on her hands she droops her little head,
And takes no heed of Harold!
Har.
(to Gemma)
Is it so then?
I was a fool, and thou didst never love me!
When I came back to thee time after time,
Out of the salt sea-winds, hungry for land,
To see thee spring up from thy blazing hearth,
Where round thee in a circle spun thy maids,
And down the long red twilight of my hall—
Timing sweet laughter with thy clapping hands—
Flutter just like a fire-fly from the south—
Thou didst not love me! When, thy greeting over,
Thou wouldst bound from me with a tender cry,
To shower thy wild caresses on my hound,
Thou didst not love me! When thy little hand
Would draw me to the fire that I might sit
And tell thee my adventures, thou the while
Listening with eyes that never swerved from mine,
Thou didst not love me! When my stalwart Danes
Would fling my heavy spoils upon the floor,
And thou wouldst kneel to gaze and wonder at them,
And ask me all their histories and their names,
Thou didst not love me! When, at fall of night,
Thou wouldst beguile me to some barr'd loophole
That showed a pale moon on a pale gray sea,
And with uplifted finger bid me listen
To sounds once dear to thee, the mermaids' song—
Oh, never didst thou love me!
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Yes, indeed,
I loved thee then.
Har.
Then! and oh, why not now?
Gem.
Oh, love some warrior-princess of the north—
I am not fit for thee!
Har.
And what care I
If thou be fit or unfit? I love thee!
Gem.
Is it true, Harold—true what they have told me?
Har.
What have they told thee?
Gem.
No, I dare not ask!
I know it is not true. It was not thou—
It could not be—didst lay mine island waste,
And slay my father and my brothers—oh!
Tell me it is not true.
Har.
It is true, Gemma!
Now be content, thou hast stabbed me to the soul,
And taken vengeance on me for thy slain.
Yes, thou art right to hate me.
Gem.
When I saw
Those three dear portraits, when they told me all...
It was not hate, but horror and amaze—
Har.
Witness the ghosts of all who fell that day,
I have repented every day since then!
For thy sake I repented, oh, my darling!
Whom, ere I saw and loved, I made an orphan.
Ah, but thou didst not shudder at me then!
I found thee in a room with painted walls,
Lost and bewildered in its spaciousness,
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With all thy tiny tresses—of a gold
Less auburn than are these—tumbling confused
About thy splendid raiment, thy small hands
Smiting each other in thy passion of terror.
Then in mine arms I lifted thee, poor child!
And quickly bore thee from the noise and tumult
Gathering around in gallery and hall,
To a safe shelter. I was but a youth,
Reared up on roaring seas and battle-fields—
'T was the first time that I had led my fleet—
Who never had till then so much as stooped
To pluck a flower. Never, before or since,
Have I loved any living thing like thee!
I cannot let thee go.
Gem.
You will, you will!
My once kind Harold, pity your poor Gemma!
You know not misery, you who have the world,
Sea after sea, and continent and isle,
Danger and glory, sunshine and the shade,
The storm and calm, creation's whole expanse
To breathe in! oh, and would you then doom me
To gasp for air in prison, where my heart
Must beat with death-throes, missing every morn
Life's fresh surprise of rapture, where mine eyes
Would want all that they loved, hate all they saw,
Would see him only, and yet never see him!
Oh, that would be a winter of despair
I'd not condemn an enemy to freeze in!
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For I shall die as easily as a flower
For lack of sun or rain.
Har.
Silence, oh, silence!
Do you know what you have said, what you have done?
Turn to the land once more—see you that sail?
There comes your lover—and look, here's the sword
I thank and kiss for promising revenge.
Gem.
Harold, what do you mean? No, no, you dare not!
Why do you speak so? No, you dare not kill him!
You dare not break the heart of a poor girl
Who has no other happiness on earth!
Oh, speak to me! you know not what it is,
Harold, to love as I do.
Har.
So you think.
Gem.
Tell me you will not kill him! say so, Harold!
Oh, can you be so changed! Never before
Have you denied me anything I asked!
Har.
Is it come to this? What then, these hands are tied!
What then, must I deny this mangled heart,
Thirsting amidst its writhings for revenge,
As fiercely as the she wolf—in her wounds,
Dying above her cubs—for water—choke
Its bitter cry, and let him live, who stole
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To wear it triumphing, whilst I go back
Bereaved and baffled!—Well, so be it, Gemma!
For thy sake will I fling away revenge,
Where all my other hopes are gone already,
To the winds and waves. And when we two shall meet,
My very sword will wonder at the hand
That wields it!
Gem.
Oh, I thank thee, thank thee, Harold!
Har.
Hush, Gemma!
Gem.
Oh, alas! alas! dear Harold!
I meant not so to wound thee.
Har.
Well, I go then,
Without a hope on earth—I who had grasped
Mine enemy in fancy with one hand,
My darling with the other, to crush him,
And bear her home in triumph to mine eyrie!
I go hence as I came, as empty-handed,
But more unfortunate! Oh, to look back,
Instead of looking forward! never more
To wish for anything on earth! Weep not—
Those tears console me not, they madden me!
Now pass below, I pray thee, and fear nothing,
Whatever tumult thou may'st hear above.
Lorenzo 's safe, and each man here thy friend.
[Gemma goes below.
Now, hearken! not a man of you must touch
The Doge's son but me.
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Harold, 't is just!
Be thine the joy and glory of revenge.
[They prepare for action.
| Gemma of The Isles | |