Poems (Shore)/Beatrice of Swabia
BEATRICE OF SWABIA
SCENE I
Her next subject was chosen from the story of the Sicilian Vespers; it was the rescue of Manfred's young daughter from the hands of Charles of Anjou.[1]
Ruggiero the fisher noble has swum to shore, his boat having foundered in a storm and, lying exhausted on the rock of Castel dell' Uovo, hears in a trance the voice of Beatrice (the imprisoned daughter of Manfred) singing from within the castle, inaudible to others.
Song of Proserpine
Still thro' Christendom, still my mother seeks for me; I as vainly seek for her—mother, mother, where is she?Still, to seek the unrisen sun, still the fatal skylark soarsThat from Enna's vale at dawning rang me sweetly out of doors,Rang me to the dewy grass where the sweet narcissus blows,While the eastern heaven is blushing like the leaf of a wild rose.Oh, the white and golden blossoms! more than my small hands could hold,Dancing, singing, here and there plucked I of the white and gold.Up he starts, the black magician! like a cloud upon the light—Oh, the cruel Saracen! bears me down with him to- night,Oh, the strange and silent twilight! Oh, the slow and solemn hours!Oh, the larks of dewy Enna! Oh, the dear narcissus flowers!Still through Christendom does my mother seek for me?Shall I cry to her for ever, Mother, mother, where is she?
SCENE II
Beatrice in prison with Fatmey her Moorish nurse
Far. My lady and princess! my jessamine flower!How long shall thy poor slave sigh for thy voice,For just one word?Beat. Dear nurse, I thought to makeSome newness in our life by laying byThe old, old talk till it grew fresh again. Far. You have been sad and silent these three hours,Sweet lady mine!Bear. I have been wondering, nurse.Yes, a new thought is breaking on my mind.I grow to doubt of all things, and I thoughtI should believe once more when hours and hours,And days and days, had passed in silent thought;And then once more the wonderful lost lifeCame back; I dreamed it all, along with this.Then when I slowly waked and saw the wallsOf this dim room break through the golden glowI conjured round me, I would ask once more,Can it be true that I was a king's daughter?Why, as I sitAnd look on yonder little patch of blueThrough yon high grated window, there comes sudden, With a new horror, a new question—HowCame we two here, poor prisoners as we are?Is all that you have told me all these years—My own strange story, is it not a dream,A tale to cheat the time like that you sang meWhen I would cry in these dim rooms for lightAnd trembled at the roaring of the seaAgainst my little pillow, as I thought—Oh is it, is it very truth? Am IIndeed a princess, Manfred's daughter, sisterTo fair Queen Constance, you so love to speak of?Is all this but delusion? and the dreamThat fills my nights up, floods them all with gloryOf sunshine and blue sea unspeakableThat waking I shall never look upon,A lovely lie—no more? Or did I onceLive kissed and petted through such golden hoursAs now you tell of—happy, happy child!Tell me, dear nurse, tell me once more, beseech you,Am I this king's child whom the world forgets?Poor captive—orphan of so great a house!Poor nurse, you weep.Far. My lady and princess!My starry jessamine shining through the gloom!By Allah! all is true that I have told,And more, much more . . . . All that the demon, on whose brows may yetHis golden crown turn into scorching steel,Robbed you of in the rose light of your dawn.
SCENE III
Loria and Ruggiero, rowing through the enemy's fleetat night, hear voices talking in it
Hush! He's the devil, who is ever nighWhen least we look for him. I was just as now,When we lay idly off the Moorish coastAnd thought he was a hundred miles away,Bound for the plunder of the Grecian Isles.And suddenly, by Heaven, the darkness roaredA thundering "Aragon and Sicily!"And in a moment blazed around our fleetA ring of fiery stars, and by their lightA swarthy swarm of eyes glared into oursSo close they seemed to touch. Thirty brave shipsWere lost to Anjou on that night, and bloodPoured out like water.2nd Voice. How did you escape? 1st Voice. We set up their own war-cry and let flyTheir signals—so got safely out from them. [Loria and Ruggiero pass round under Prince Charles of Salermo's ship, where singing is going on Song. My Lady gave me a violet,Gave me one violet out of three.Long has it faded; I keep it yetShrined in gold, to be buried with me.I gave her the heart out of my breast—'Twas all I had—and she keeps it yet;Keeps it and shows it with many a jest—Yet it was worth that violet. Rug. That is the prince's voice. Voice. (Hailing them.) What boat is there? Rug. We are poor fishers, toiling hard to catchA supper for your lordships.Prince. See you bringA million of anchovies for our banquet,When we have beaten Loria.Loria. Aye, my lord.We will work miracles to please your Lordship.[Rows away.Young troubadour! yourself's the costliest fishOur nets are gaping for.
Then follows the battle of the Bay of Naples, in which Loria, commanding the Sicilian fleet, entirely defeats the French, and takes captive Charles the Lame, Prince of Salerno, eldest son of Charles of Anjou. His young wife, witnessing the scene from the Castello dell' Uovo, is joined there by the Cardinal Gherardo, both in great dismay, as Loria has threatened the life of the Prince unless the captive Beatrice is instantly surrendered.
SCENE.—Princess of Salermo, Governor of theCastle, Cardinal Gherardo
Princess. Let me fly to her! Instantly—where? where? Gov. Madam, to reach her you must bend your stepsBy many a cold and steep and winding stairBelow the very margin of the sea,Into a vast vault lighted from above.Princess. A dungeon! Oh!Gov. No; a dim princely stateShe holds in those wide chambers, and, unseen,She sees a glimpse of sky.Princess. No, no, I dare not!I dare not fetch a ghost out of her grave.Go you, my lord, go you, and bring her to me,To my own chamber—haste!
The interview takes place, and the Princess of Salerno, still more terrified, recounts it to the Cardinal, saying:
'Twas terrible, that strange and silent girl!You told me not she was so beautiful.Has she some Saracen spell? My Lord, I would notFace her again to win back Sicily!When round her brow I bound the diamond wreathI could but start to see what I had done,For as she stood with all its light upon her,Her lips just parted, with wide open eyes,So cruel and so deadly was her silenceShe seemed scarce human when I knelt before her,And clasped her knees, she did not look at meOr seem to hear me. I well nigh had criedIs this indeed the Princess, Manfred's daughter,Or is it, truly, Mary come from Heaven,To take the prisoner's place and doom us all?My Lord, I shiver! Oh will she have mercy?My Carlo, will she save him? Say, Lord Cardinal,Is it not yet too late?Card. No, lady, no!Wonder not, if this long imprisoned girlWas struck dumb by such sudden change of fortune;But they will keep their promise and his lifeMore profits than his death. Well Loria knowsHis father's son. Prince. You think so? But—oh me! Princess. What if they rend him limb from limb the momentHe steps on shore? What though the vesper hourBe over—am I raving? Hear I not—Do you not hear it too? Across the bayThe cry of "Muoja, muoja?" Look! look! look!The enemy's fleet is bursting into stars.Oh God! That hoarse, wild roar! Carlo, my Carlo! Card. Lady, be calm! be calm! Why, see you notThe boat that bears the Lady BeatriceIs but this moment lost among the lights?'Tis her they greet so wildly, 'tis not "muoja,"But "Viva! viva!" that you hear.
Beatrice, conveyed by a boat from the French fleet, is transferred to the Sicilian, and approaches Palermo.
Loria. (To Beatrice.) Come, lady, the day brightens. Now you seeShine clearer 'gainst yon purple mountain pileThe spires and cupolas of a fair town(More like a Moorish than a Christian, though)Along the sea-line. Look and feast your eyes;For that's Palermo. There was born your sister—And you. Beat. Those lovely, lovely sounds that trembleAcross the water towards us?Loria. Ha! the townWakes, and from every steeple rings us welcome.It seems to reel with joy! And sec the boatsSwarming to meet us! What, fair lady, tears?Nay, nay, but laugh, as I do at the deedThat there was done while yet you pined in bonds.That blessed March day when those very bellsRang out to vespers, but no vesper prayerWent up to Heaven: for choral anthems, thenThe yell of "Muoja! muoja!"—for responseThe groans of Frenchmen, curses, cries for mercy,From all their thousand throats—but mercy? noneFor one false foreign felon knight or squireOr man-at-arms, or craven stuttererThat strove for life to sound one little word,Three little syllables, a shibbolethThat did its work, I tell you! "Cieiri!"They could not for their lives. "Cieiri" slew them.No mercy then for woman or for child!Sicily had her daughters to avenge!Till tingled both the ears of all who heard,Till Charles his ivory sceptre gnawed for rage.'Twill taste as bitter now.
The Prince of Salerno comes on deck
Loria.Welcome, Sir Prince,To Sicily.Prince. I thank you; 'twas not thusI thought to see it for the first time.Loria. Thus,And only thus, Sir.Prince. Say, Lord Admiral,Is that the lovely ghost you conjured up? Loria. The Princess, Sir, King Manfred's daughter. Prince. Princess,You were my father's captive. The revengeOf fortune makes me yours—a willing one,In bondage to your beauty. Let me kissYour hand and pray you to forgive my father. Beat. (To Loria)Tell him, my lord,I seek no vengeance for my wrongs; it could notBring back the years his father robbed me of. Prince. I hear you, lady. But in your stern lotI had no part. And yet, forgive my fatherFor hiding in the dark such loveliness.Since now you are come forth your charms are brighterFor that long sad eclipse, and far outshineThe blossoms that unclosed beneath the sun. Beat. (To Loria.) Pray him, my lord, to spare me: let me withdraw, Prince. My lord, your fair Princess seems cold and deafAs yet to knightly homage.Loria. Sir, your fatherSent her no Court Preceptor to enlightenThe darkness of her dungeon. Yet you see. . . . .
Beatrice has landed and, entering the palace, says to her attendants:
Tell me, tell me truly,Am I on earth still?Atten. 'Tis the Palace hall,Princess, and yonder see the Queen, your sister,Hurrying to welcome you.
Enter Queen Constance
Cons. My Beatrice.[Embraces her.What, not a word? Tremble not, thou art safe.Sit by me here, upon this shaded couch.Know'st thou me not? Let me look first at thee,White lily that thou art. Know'st thou me, dear? Beat. They say thou art the Queen. Cons.Thy sister Constance.My Beatrice! my sister!They embrace again and weep. Let us no moreUtter our joys in tears. Speak, speak to me;I have scarce heard thy voice yet.Beat. Have I died?And is this Paradise?
SCENE.—A Court and Fountain in the ZizaPalace. Constance finds Beatrice alone
Cons. Why that start, that cry?What thus affrights thee, dear?Beat. I was so lostIn gazing, wondering at this shower of light,Striving to call all back to memory,That when I heard your step, I thought, I thought,My gaoler had surprised me. Still it haunts me,That grating key. I never can quite trustThat I am free to open any door,To pass from room to room, and step betweenThose airy arches into Paradise.Oh, feathery foliage, oh, delicious blue!And none to call me back, to draw againA sable curtain over this sweet world,And lock me in my tomb once more.Cons. Poor uncaged dove! Beat. Let me sit by you. Still was I in fancy A prisoner on the moonlit, murmuring sea'Twixt Naples and Palermo. Though I layOn a soft couch and women waited on me,And spoke to me in reverent, gentle tones,And seemed so kind and good, yet still I thought"They're only tricking me; they know full wellI am but hastening to another prison." Cons. And had you no faith, then, in the AdmiralWho brought you here in triumph?Beat. Ah, you know notHow I was dizzied, dazzled by the lights,The voices, the strange faces, the strange burstOf golden moon and sea, when first my boatShot into the bright labyrinth of shipsBestarred with torchlight, and a shout rose up—A sound I ne'er had heard the like of—roarOn roar—'twas "Viva, viva, Beatrice!"—They told me after, but I heard no words.I knew not whether it were friend or foe,Or love or hatred speaking in that din.Then as I touched the deck a lofty formStood o'er me like a tower, and bowed his headBefore me and said something—what, I know not.I was resigned to all, to death or life,So savage was his smile. But his loud voiceIn the night watches pealing o'er my head,His heavy tread above me made my heart Thrill with the fancy of a monstrous doomAwaiting me at last. I shudder, Constance.Do you not shudder at him?Cons. What, my child,The noble Loria, my own foster-brother,My faithful knight, my Pedro's loyal soldier,Your brave deliverer? There, in yonder hall,Betwixt those pillars, on his knee before meHe swore to bring you to me. He has brought you.Do you not thank him?Beat. You I kiss and thank,And bless and worship; you, my queen and angel! Cons. What means this pause? in what dream are you lost? Beat. A dream of something that comes back to me.A voice, a some one, as I stood preparedTo step into the boat that waited me,A deep sweet voice—I think it trembled too—A face too—'twas a young man's—beautifulIt seemed to me just in that fleeting moment.I know he knelt to me, and kissed my hand,And something said that had a proud, glad sound,Then leapt into the boat—I think 'twas he—And met me with his outstretched hand to guide meAs I stepped in. I had forgotten it;But now I think of it again Cons. I guessThat was brave Ruggiero, he who firstBrought the blest news that you were still in life,And warned us of the mighty Provence fleetArrayed to crush us, and then won his knighthoodBy service in our ranks. You soon shall see him,And thank him.Beat. Shall I?Cons. When you came on deck,That holy, happy daybreak; when you sawPalermo rise before you from the sea(Just as I saw it when I left it first,A child, a bride, with Pedro; and againWhen I came back after so many yearsOf love and woe, woe for my dear slain father,And love for my dear lord, my noble Pedro,And showed my children first their mother's homeAnd birthplace). What felt you? Surely no fear! Beat. I could not tell you—never!Cons. Try to tell me. Beat. When the AdmiralPointed me out that silent, glittering city,I could not answer him for tears. And thenThose bells! Like messages from Paradise,How suddenly they broke upon the airAnd trembled in my heart! I seemed new made—Until he spoke some strange and horrible words, That tinged the very domes and towers and spires,And e'en the water with a tinge of blood,And turned the angel music of the bellsInto a cry of anguish. What was done here?What horror has passed o'er this lovely place?As I paced hither up the Marble Road,[2]All dizzied by the wild shouts of the crowd,I thought a curse was on me, and on allI looked upon, until I saw you comeHurrying to meet me through the long, long hall,And all in tears. I knew not who you were,Until one said, "That lady is the Queen,Your sister." Yet I knew not what they meant.I could but think I was in Heaven at last,And you the dear Madonna.Cons. Beatrice!My Beatrice! 'Tis you who bring a blessingOut of the depths of long unhappy years;Sprung up from my slain father's desolate graveYou are a blossom tossed by wind and wave***** Beat. What was that horrid thing he told me of?*****
As they advance from the Court into a suite of Palace rooms, Beatrice exclaims:
See, O see?Who are those two who slowly come to meet us?See those two ladies. What, another you?Is there another Constance, then?Cons. Not so.'Tis we ourselves who, moving onward, throwOur images on a mirror.Beat. But who is sheWho walks beside thee?Cons. 'Tis thyself, my child.Thou hast ne'er seen thine own face, then?Beat. Mine own?She with the brown-gold tresses and large eyesThat now are turned on me, and white, so white.Am I hike that? Am I so beautiful?I did not know it.Cons. Yes, my lily-flower,Most beautiful thou art!
After "Beatrice of Swabia," which was composed several years later than "Pedro the Cruel," we may place some single scenes, or parts of scenes, evidently intended for projected dramas, of various and uncertain dates.