University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

—A spacious balcony of the Palace overlooking the sea. Zilia, Lorenzo, and others assembled watching the storm.
Zil.
How well that like a child she sleeps away
Th' emotions that have shaken so her frame!
This sight would have renewed them. A fair ship,
Now we can see her close.

Lor.
You will soon see her
Still closer.

Zil.
She has not a chance you think?
Those roaring waves play with her as a toy
That the next touch will shatter.

Lor.
Rather call her
A bird that 's spell-bound by a serpent's eye,
Dreading, yet ever drawn towards its fate—
So does that galley strive and strive again,
And yet again rush headlong towards the shore.
I feel as if I were that serpent, mother.

One of the lookers-on.
Just retribution that has made this shore
The doom of Harold. How those ghastly breakers
Gnash their white teeth at him!

Another.
Yet, now to perish—
In the clear light of day—were scarce more fearful
Than to fall slain in battle. To behold
For the last time the faces of our fellows,
Exchange the last of human sympathy—
Gives the soul strength for a sublime regret,
And crowds more life into life's final moment,
Than throbbed in all before. But night draws near—
And death in darkness and in uproar—oh!
The soul must shrink as from the brink of chaos,
And madden with the horror, ere it plunge
Into the gulf of fate.

Another.
And this the end!
On a lea-shore, with tattered sails, to reel—
Like a spent quarry pierced by many a shaft,
Till caught and mangled by triumphant hounds—
That once went flaunting under all her canvass,
To robbery and murder.

Lor.
(to Zilia)
I must begone.

Zil.
One moment—should he yet ride out the storm?

Lor.
He will not—she is half a wreck already.

Zil.
But should he 'scape the ship and reach the land?

Lor.
I go to make provision for that chance.

Zil.
And how dispose of him?

Lor.
There 's but one way.
Men show no mercy to the famished wolf
That creeps in winter howling to their doors.

Zil.
Ah, well!......strong courses mostly are the wisest!
Long as he lives, we cannot feel her safe—
But yet I fear 't will be a grief to her!
It will be hard to make her see the justice......

Lor.
She need not know it—for a time at least.

Zil.
Her thoughts will be engrossed by that event
That 's greatest in the world to girlhood's eyes.
The white mist of the wedding veil will hide
All from her eyes but love.

Lor.
You say she still
Is sleeping?

Zil.
Happily, she is.

Lor.
I leave you then. By night you shall hear of me.

Scene II.

—Evening. The seashore. A crowd assembled. Lorenzo and a fisherman.
Fisher.
They must have perished—every soul on board,
Except this one I told you of.

Lor.
And he—
What sort of man? A sailor, a mere sailor?

Fisher.
No, no, my lord! I know not what to call him—
In size and strength a giant, such as ne'er
Was born in all the islands of old Greece,
Or any land I 've heard of. How he swam!
To watch him as he came, with head thrown back,
Still yellow, like a sun, though drenched in brine,
Now swallowed up, now bursting through again,
You would have thought it was a ship-wrecked lion
Struggling against the billows. Such a feat,
I think, has not been seen since earth began!

Lor.
You said you left him sleeping?

Fisher.
Or at least,
Motionless as the huge rough-hewn Apollo,
In yonder northern quarries. And to own
The simple truth, we care not to come near him.
So there he lies, his garments dropping brine,
And his head resting on a heap of weed.
Perchance he is dead.

Lor.
Well, guide us to the spot.

[Exeunt Lorenzo and Fisherman with armed followers.

Scene III.

—A retired spot in another part of the seashore.
Enter Lorenzo, Fisherman, &c. Harold stretched upon the ground against a rock.
Fisher.
This way, my lord! There! with the moon full on him!
He has half raised himself I see—his head
Rests on his hand.

Lor.
It is himself indeed.
I know him, though his face is turned away.
Wait! I 'll move softly on.

Har.
My love, my darling!

Fisher.
He sees us not!

Har.
They died who wished to live,
But I was wrecked already.

Lor.
Dane, thy fate!

[Stabs him.
Har.
(starting to his feet, then falling again)
Well done, assassin! fisherman, come hither!

Lor.
Go to him.

Fisher.
My lord, I dare not.

Har.
I am dying,
And could not hurt thee if I would. Come nearer—
Seest thou this ring? Go, throw it in the water.
You have done well.

[Dies.
Fisher.
He is dead, my lord.

Lor.
We two
Could not exist together in one world.
Vengeance is over—next the marriage morn.

[Exit Lorenzo and followers.
Enter Fisherman's wife.
Wife.
Oh, husband, what is this? what, the Dane killed?
Alas, this is a woeful evening's work!

Fisher.
Panagia! how he started to his feet—
I thought that moment we were all dead men!—
When the sharp steel went through him, and ere twice
My heart could bound, fell down again like a tower!—
What witchcraft was there in that ring I wonder!
It would have made my fortune. For such pearls,
I think our Duchess would have given her soul.

Wife.
Ah me, but I shall dream of that pale giant
And feel all night his great blue eyes upon me!
Perhaps e'en he, for as terrible as he is,
Has wife or sister left at home to mourn him.
They might have spared him when the waves had mercy!
I feared him then, but now I pity him,
And dread his death may bring a curse upon us.

A Voice from the sea.
Harold! Harold! Harold!

Wife.
Hark! Hark! oh heaven! A drowning woman's cry!
Husband, 't is terrible! can naught be done?
Canst thou not save her?

Fisher.
Look!

Enter Astrid from the sea.
Wife.
A ghost! a ghost!

Fisher.
Hush, let us see what happens.

Wife.
Oh, great heavens!
This is too dreadful! why then was he murdered,
To bring this on us?

Fisher.
This is the ring's doing—
I would I had not thrown it.

Wife.
Can ghosts sob so,
And wring such piteous hands, and shed such tears?

Ast.
My brother! oh, my brother! oh, my brother!

Wife.
Do you see that crown of coral on her head?
And oh, what ringlets, like a golden veil!

Fisher.
Look there! look there! more of them! Oh, the sea
Is all ashine with these white, gold-haired creatures!
On every wave there 's one.

Wife.
Oh, come away,
Come away, husband! I can bear no more!
This bodes no good to Naxos, nor the Duchess.

Scene IV.

—Night. Gemma asleep in her chamber. Mermaids singing in the sea below.
Mer.

Naxiotes singing beneath the window.
Nax.

Enter Zilia, Mistress of the Robes, and Attendants.
Zil.
Wake, Gemma! Wake, my Princess! Lo, they bring
Your wedding-robe—arise!

Gem.
Oh, where am I?
Do you hear them singing! When the angels open
The gates of Paradise to happy souls,
Such sounds as these, I think, must crowd the air.
How glorious life is! Does the world shine thus
On every wedding morn?

Zil.
Brides have charmed eyes—
Though haply not all brides wear in their crown
Such flowers of beauty, youth, and love as you do,
Whose life is but a poem, set to music.
For us, time moves in prose. On days like these,
O'er the dead level of a woman's life
Rises one royal moment like a sun—
One that I trust will never set for you,
Leaving all gray behind it.

Gem.
Stay! How strange!
What I have just remembered was no dream!
I heard, as I do live—last night I heard,
When darkness was just freshening into twilight,
Voices that sang in Danish from the shore.
How could it be? And strangest still of all,
It was a dirge, a beautiful slow dirge—
Of many voices harp-like and confused,
Yet tuned to one rich harmony of sorrow.
My sense was wrapped in a thin veil of sleep,
Which never stirred, and yet I heard it all—
Gemma sleeps, her wedding crown above her!
Those very words are ringing in my ear,
And yet it was a dirge.

Zil.
'T was but a dream.
There is no creature sings or speaks that tongue
In one of all your isles. But do not tell
Lorenzo that your dreams heard Danish songs.

A Lady
(aside to the Mistress of the Robes).
To dream of dirges on a wedding-morn!
What sort of omen do you call that?

M. of the Robes.
Hush!
No evil omen to so rich a cheek,
And to such fresh young eyes.

Another Lady.
What, if ill news
Await us of my lord Lorenzo?

M. of the Robes.
Nay!
What foolish fancies! All is well and shall be!
Madam, the time advances.

Zil.
See, the room
Is all ablaze with gold and purple gifts
Already, from the north, south, east, and west!
Now let my son's belov'd and peerless bride
Put on her splendour.

M. of the Robes.
Sure th' imperial spouse
Of Palæologus, upon her throne,
Ne'er looked more sumptuous!

Zil.
Lo, the cestus stiff
With broidered silver, waits to bind in folds
This fabric, glowing from a Persian loom;
And pearls, like showers of dewdrops, for your hair—
(The divers stole them from your mermaid-sisters);
And last, this flashing crown of argent, mixed
With living bloom from the bride's myrtle bough!
See, all is ready here.

Gem.
Dearest princess,
Will they be long arraying me? my heart
So flutters!

Zil.
'T is for your Lorenzo's eyes!

[The Mistress of the Robes and Attendants array Gemma for the wedding.

Scene V.

—The Piazza before the Cathedral doors. A crowd waiting for the wedding procession.
Nax.
(singing)

Enter Gemma, Lorenzo, Zilia, and wedding procession. Gemma alights from her litter, and they prepare to enter the Cathedral. Enter Thorbrand and approaches Gemma.
Lor.
Stand back, barbarian! Guards, surround and seize him!

Thor.
Fools! think you, you can hold me? Unarmed, worn
With shipwreck and with hunger, I am free
That moment I shall choose.

Lor.
A bridegroom's hand
Should not shed blood upon his wedding-morn,
Or I might teach thee better. Crossbow-men,
See he escape not.

Gem.
It is Thorbrand! Oh!
Lorenzo, let him speak! They must not hurt him—
He is my friend. Oh, let him speak to me!
I would be kind to all the world to-day.

Zil.
This must not be......

Lor.
Nay, let her have her will then!

Gem.
Thou art ghastly, Thorbrand! What has befallen thee?

Thor.
I have a thing to say to thee.

Gem.
Say on!

Thor.
First, I am bound by oath to one I honoured,
Never to draw a sword upon these isles,
So that I cannot with mine own right hand
Take vengeance for the wrong that has been done me.

Gem.
What wrong—what wrong, oh, Thorbrand?

Thor.
Gemma, know
The sacred laws of hospitality
Last night were impiously profaned in Naxos,
So that the dreadful fame of it will ring,
Like funeral bells, amongst these isles for ever.
And if thou wert consenting to the deed,
Be thou the curse of nations to all time—
If not, do justice on the murderer.

Lor.
Ruffian, stand off!

Gem.
No, let me—let me hear!
Tell me what deed, tell me what murderer!

Thor.
Harold, the earl, was shipwrecked yesternight,
On thine own shores, and on these shores that night
Thy bridegroom murdered him!

Gem.
What means all this?
What does he mean, Lorenzo?

Lor.
Seize the Dane!
[Thorbrand breaks loose from the guards.
Pursue him! Crossbow-men, let fly! Now, on!
On to the wedding! We will speak of this
Hereafter, Gemma.

Zil.
Why, my Princess, heed,
At such a moment, yon barbarian's ravings?
Saw you not 't was a madman?

Gem.
Only tell me—
What did he mean, Lorenzo?

Lor.
Nay, you heard!
Since you will know the truth, it must be told!
You have done ill to give ear to this pirate—
For your own sake, I would have hindered you.
Harold indeed is dead. Trust me, the deed
Was just and necessary! For the rest......

Gem.
You have broke my heart!

[Faints.
Zil.
Give her to me! Nay, fear not,
This will be nothing.

Lor.
Back to the palace! Mother,
No wedding for to day, thanks to that ruffian!

[Exeunt.

Scene VI.

—The Palace. Gemma on a couch in her chamber, Zilia and Lorenzo watching her. Attendants in the background.
Lor.
My love, know'st thou me yet? hast thou forgiven?
Do not turn from me!

Gem.
Oh, my misery!
Unhappy Harold! murdered for my sake!
Oh, Harold! Harold!

Lor.
Thou hast me to love thee!
Am I no more enough for thee? sweet Gemma,
Are we not still the same?

Gem.
How couldst thou—oh,
Barbarous Lorenzo! how hadst thou the heart?

Lor.
Call me not barbarous, Gemma, for I love thee!
I love thee more a thousand times than he did!

Gem.
So true, so generous! and I stabbed him so,
By my unkindness!

Lor.
Am I nothing to thee,
My bride, my Gemma?

Gem.
Cruel, all of you—
Why did you bring me here to make me wretched?
I care not to reign o'er you! Take away
This odious wedding-crown! Go, go, Lorenzo!
From this time forth I hate thee!

Zil.
Stay, she is raving!
She knows not what she says.

Lor.
You are mistaken.

[Exit.
Gem.
Not one of you can comfort me, not one!
No bodiless soul by death just cast adrift
On the wide desert of eternity,
Was ever yet more desolate than I.
Oh, Astrid! Astrid! come to me!

Zil.
You see
Her mind still wanders. Hark! who 's this that sings
And plays the harp upon the beach to-night?
Go, say the Duchess must not be disturbed.

A Lady.
'T is very sweet—perhaps the sound may soothe her.
See how she sits up with wide listening eyes!

Gem.
Oh, leave me! for the love of heaven, all leave me!
I am calm again—but let me be alone,
It is the one thing that can do me good.

Zil.
Shall I not send my son to you? will you not
See him again, and pardon and console him,
Will you not see him, Gemma?

Gem.
No, no, no!
Leave me! I shall go mad!

Zil.
(to attendants)
Let us leave her, then.
Perchance it will be best for her, our presence
Just now but serves to irritate her frenzy.
Let us have patience, she will soon amend.

[Exeunt Zilia and attendants.
Mermaids heard singing below.
Mer.

[Gemma rises and leaves her chamber.

Scene VII.

—A gallery of the Palace. Lorenzo standing at the window.
Enter Zilia.
Zil.
You must take patience—this will pass away.
She is already calmer. Wonder not
A dear friend's death, pirate although he were,
Should rudely shock so delicate a frame.
When this is over, she will cling to you
With the old tenderness. Oh, trust me, once
The wedding over—and that soon will be—
She will be brought to see this tragedy
In its true light, and all will be forgiven.
Oh, yes, I think all will be well to-morrow!
'T is not so long to wait—although I long
To hear the blessing said above you twain.

Lor.
I do not hope, my mother, nor desire it—
Her heart is with the Dane, and mine is free.
I cannot, never could, love a false mistress.

Zil.
Why, what is this? What mean you? False you call her?
She false to you—to you whom we all see
She worships as girls worship their first love?
Put by that fancy.

Lor.
Her own words you heard—
But have not understood them as I did.
I need no repetition.

Zil.
Nay, but think!
It was excusable that she should hear
With grief the fate of one she had known so long—
Loved even. In your place I think I should not
Be jealous of those tears.

Lor.
Not jealous, mother—
When I have ceased to love I am not jealous.

Zil.
I know you better than you know yourself,
Nor will believe that you have ceased to love.
All will be right when once you two have met,
Restored to reason by a night's repentance.

Lor.
'T is strange what slight details our minds run over,
When we demand a reason of the passion
That once enslaved us, and how small a blemish
Decides our freedom......

Zil.
Nay, what idle talk!
Was ever such an obstinate pair of lovers!
'T will be a harder task than I had fancied
To reunite those ties a moment broke.
And all at first so smooth!

Lor.
Shall I confess it?
Bewitching, beautiful as Gemma is,
The poet in me sees for its ideal,
A something it has never seen in her.

Zil.
Fastidious lover! what would you have more?
Was there perchance a ringlet out of curl
When last you saw her? What is her defect?

Lor.
The type is perfect—leave her as she is,
A finished picture from the artist's hands,
To draw admiring crowds. Yet have I seen,
Another in the gallery of my dreams,
Unconsciously perhaps, and yet 't was there—
I scarce know if the original exists,
Or if I hope to find it. There I see
A loftier stature both of mind and form,
The radiant paleness of a steadfast soul,
A face whose still and delicate nobleness
Marks out a queen by nature, sweet, but slow
To give herself away. Gemma's impassioned—
So should be this enchantress, but not wildly,
And rarely sparkling into flame, nor must she
Too heedlessly despise the world's proud purple;
Let her have queenly worn its utmost glory,
Subdued the proud, the proudest, even me,
Then let her, if need be, step off her throne
In graceful abdication, for my sake—
If I should ever meet her, at her feet
I should not dare to smile. The time has been,
And may be yet again, with graver worship,
Worship of faltering voice, and humbled eyes,
My soul has owned a true divinity.

Zil.
So you go on refining! I could think,
To hear you thus, you were incapable
Of heartily desiring anything,
Only I can perceive through all this talk
About your soul's ideal—and what man
Has loved that, ever?—that the heart within you
Aches as it never ached before.

Lor.
Too much,
In a past life of passion, have I suffered,
Not to know how to deal with such heart achings.
Man in his search for happiness so often
Stumbles on these wrong paths! I shall go back
And try another.

Zil.
Ah, how proud you are!
And yet it sounds to me like child's play. Pride,
I think, was never yet so much misplaced,
As towards one who has herself so little.
Is it such trouble to give utterance
Just to the few kind words that make all straight?
These children are so easily consoled
By those they love, and you besides do love her—
It was an actual love match.

Lor.
Mother, enough!
Either my heart will turn to stone like others,
Or I shall find another heart to love me.
Therefore, farewell! this very night I mean
To embark for Syria.

Zil.
Nay, you are not serious?

Lor.
Never have I been more so.

Zil.
No, no, no!
I will not hear this. You are not resolved
To fling away the best chance of your life?

Lor.
I have flung other such away ere now.

Zil.
And the strange scandal, and the world's great wonder,
The triumph of the envious—you have strength
To brave all that?

Lor.
I shall be far away—
And I can win fresh prizes if I need them.

Zil.
You will not win another such as this—
Heiress, princess, and beauty, all in one.
And then perhaps to know, when 't is too late,
She broke her heart for you!

Lor.
She will not break it,
Or not for me. She will forget me, mother,
If she has not forgotten me already.

Zil.
You know not how she loved you! I have smiled
So many times o'er her devoted passion!
Never read man so coldly o'er his own sentence,
As you read yours! Think once again, my son,
For your own sake! Ah, well, I see 'tis vain.
I think you never will find happiness,
You've not the generous courage to lay hold of it,
Though you will miss it always while you live.
And when you hear, as hear perhaps you will,
Your bride is wedded to another bridegroom?
You smile—but there was something ere you smiled,
Answered more truly from those two dark brows.
You will be wretched—you are wretched now!

Lor.
Farewell, my mother!

Zil.
My mistaken son!
I shall have little to detain me here,
Now all my hopes in Gemma are o'erthrown!—
The King of Cyprus has a lovely daughter—
Beauty and royalty you yet may win,
If not a rich dominion. Well, adieu!

[Exit Lorenzo.

SCENE VIII.

—Evening. A retired cove of the seashore.
Enter Gemma.
Gem.
Come to me, Astrid, for my heart is broken.

Enter Astrid from the sea.
Ast.
Alas, poor child!

Gem.
Oh, I can neither live
Nor die without his pardon! Let me see him!
Perhaps he is not dead!

Ast.
Would I might say so!
He is dead indeed—e'en now his body floats
Away to those cold seas that first he loved!
Yet haply, oh, my Gemma! ere we part,
I yet may bathe those wild glazed eyes of thine
In sweeter, softer tears more like to joy.
But tell me first—dost thou still love Lorenzo?

Gem.
All he has been to me is so gone by,
I neither love nor hate him—he is nothing.
Oh, Harold! Harold! Harold! How the life
I had forgotten, rises up again
In all its cruel, sweet reality!
No more a child, I look back to the days
When he was made so happy by my love,
Although I never gave him back, alas!
The thousandth part of what he gave to me—
For oh! through all the years we lived together,
I cannot call back one luxurious memory
Of words as fond as he would fain have heard—
One such outpouring of the heart as leaves it
In after absence sadly satisfied,
Absolved from sharp contrition for lost time.
And, worst of all, I see unceasingly—
And when I die, and roam abroad to seek,
But never find, his ghost—I still shall see—
Oh, the cold pang that chokes me while I speak!—
His face of pale and uncomplaining pain,
When he turned from me with a broken heart.
I love him now, with all my power of loving,
And never, never, never can assuage
This bitter thirst to throw my arms once more
Around his neck, and cry to him for pardon,
And heal all he has suffered by my tears.
And I have killed him—'twas through me he died!
Oh, when was creature half so lost as I?

Ast.
Alas! And what am I? I loved him too,
And now o'er all the blue 'twixt pole and pole,
May seek for him in vain.

Gem.
So then we two
Are desolate and despairing! Help us, God!

Ast.
Despair not yet—I still may comfort thee,
Hast thou but strength of soul—for I can show thee,
Reflected from some form invisible—
If far or near, in earth, or out of it,
Or in what essence framed, I cannot tell thee—
Here in this mirror him thou weep'st for so.
He too shall look on thee as thou on him—
So shall you meet once more.

Gem.
Show it me, Astrid!
All heaven seems opening on me.

Ast.
Wait, fond heart!
Thou know'st not the conditions. If this blessing,
This solace past all solace, ever yet
Accorded to a mortal's misery,
Thus groaning over the irrevocable,
If this be granted thee, resign thyself
To die, when thou hast had the full fruition
Of thy heart's passionate wish.

Gem.
Let me but see him,
And then die, Astrid.

Ast.
Oh, but yet consider,
My Gemma, all the chances life still offers!
Can beauteous womanhood be at thy years
Blighted for life? Genius omnipotent
In fashioning that outward loveliness—
Granting therein expression to a soul
As lovely—pure and ardent as thine eyes,
Warm as the summer rose upon thy cheek,
Sweet as thy mouth, and graceful as thy hair,
As delicate as this small, pointed hand,
As playful as this music-loving foot—
Oh, sure in giving this, it charmed thy being
All fragile as it is, 'gainst fate itself!
A thousand tempting paths lead up before thee
To different heights, but each into a garden—
The mystery of the future still is thine,
And this but one strain of thy life's whole music!
Wouldst thou but listen on, not close thine ears
To all the rest, how know'st thou through what harmonies
It yet may burst into a song of rapture?

Gem.
Astrid, in pity to a drowning soul,
Stretch out thy hand, and bless me with the face
I long to die for!

Ast.
Must I lose thee, then?
So be it, Harold's darling! Die content—
Look through this mirror—tell me what thou seest.

Gem.
I see mine own face—now it keeps retreating—
And now a distant light......widening and brightening......
And now......'tis Harold! 'Tis himself! Oh, Astrid!
He sees me, and he smiles! Yes, he forgives me.
Oh, might I live on thus, just thus for ever!
Harold, beloved Harold! Speak to me.
Astrid, he seems to hear me—yes, his lips
Move even, but I cannot hear a sound.

Ast.
Oh, passionate martyr! Such is earthly love
That sings for rapture 'mid the funeral fires!

Gem.
Oh, Astrid! Astrid! Is this death? I feel
All in a dizzy dream—and yet so happy!

Mer.
(singing)
Oh, moon! that art bathing tonight in this cove,
Look down on this creature that's dying for love!
With deep dazzling eyes, and with fast ebbing breath—
Like a bride on her mirror, she smiles upon death.
Her heart-beats are numbered—the moments are flying!
All life, love, and beauty—yet dying, yet dying!

Gem.
He beckons with his hand! Will he be there
To meet me, when I go?

Ast.
Alas, alas!
Harold! My Harold! Wait for her yet longer.

Gem.
He has vanished.

[Dies.
Ast.
I have done with earth for ever—
The pain, the pain to love these human creatures!
No more that sweet young voice shall speak to me—
She feels not now my kisses nor my tears!

Mer.
Now her life's love dream is dreamt and over—
Now let earth forget the loved and lover—
Now let all their sisters of the waves
Weep and weave sea-garlands for their graves!
Never let the faithless sons of men
On her innocent beauty gaze again!
Never let a faithless human tear
Drop on her mysterious sepulchre!
With flashing sea-pebbles, with clear-glowing amber,
With weeds of gold, purple, and rose,
In rainbow-like streamers—we'll light up a chamber
For Gemma's soft night of repose,
Where down in the emerald deeps of the sea,
Asleep 'mid the streams of her hair,
She bathed in a luminous twilight shall be
Eternally, changelessly fair.
There, last of his race, shall be laid her sea-king
To rest on his adamant bed—
There his own cast-away flag will we bring
To shadow the stern, sleeping head—
There round our pale queen will we gather and sing,
Every eve, of the dear and the dead.