The Works of Frederick Schiller - LightNovelsOnl.com
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ISABELLA.
I am thy mother, and Messina's princess!
BEATRICE.
Art thou Don Manuel's and Don Caesar's mother?
ISABELLA.
And thine! They are thy brethren whom thou namest.
BEATRICE.
Oh, gleam of horrid light!
ISABELLA.
What troubles thee?
Say, whence this strange emotion?
BEATRICE.
Yes! 'twas they!
Now I remember all; no dream deceived me, They met--'tis fearful truth! Unhappy men!
Where have ye hid him?
[She rushes towards the Chorus; they turn away from her.
A funeral march is heard in the distance.
CHORUS.
Horror! Horror!
ISABELLA.
Hid!
Speak--who is hid? and what is true? Ye stand In silent dull amaze--as though ye fathomed Her words of mystery! In your faltering tones-- Your brows--I read of horrors yet unknown, That would refrain my tongue! What is it? Tell me!
I will know all! Why fix ye on the door That awe-struck gaze? What mournful music sounds?
[The march is heard nearer.
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
It comes! it comes! and all shall be declared With terrible voice. My mistress! steel thy heart, Be firm, and bear with courage what awaits thee-- For more than women's soul thy destined griefs Demand.
ISABELLA.
What comes? and what awaits me? Hark With fearful tones the death-wail smites mine ear-- It echoes through the house! Where are my sons?
[The first Semi-chorus brings in the body of DON MANUEL on a bier, which is placed at the side of the stage.
A black pall is spread over it.
ISABELLA, BEATRICE, DIEGO.
Both Choruses.
First Chorus (CAJETAN).
With sorrow in his train, From street to street the King of Terror glides; With stealthy foot, and slow, He creeps where'er the fleeting race Of man abides In turn at every gate Is heard the dreaded knock of fate, The message of unutterable woe!
BERENGAR.
When, in the sere And autumn leaves decayed, The mournful forest tells how quickly fade The glories of the year!
When in the silent tomb oppressed, Frail man, with weight of days, Sinks to his tranquil rest; Contented nature but obeys Her everlasting law,-- The general doom awakes no shuddering awe!
But, mortals, oh! prepare For mightier ills; with ruthless hand Fell murder cuts the holy band-- The kindred tie: insatiate death, With unrelenting rage, Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age!
CAJETAN.
When clouds athwart the lowering sky Are driven--when bursts with hollow moan The thunder's peal--our trembling bosoms own The might of awful destiny!
Yet oft the lightning's glare Darts sudden through the cloudless air:-- Then in thy short delusive day Of bliss, oh! dread the treacherous snare; Nor prize the fleeting goods in vain, The flowers that bloom but to decay!
Nor wealth, nor joy, nor aught but pain, Was e'er to mortal's lot secure:-- Our first best lesson--to endure!
ISABELLA.
What shall I hear? What horrors lurk beneath This funeral pall?
[She steps towards the bier, but suddenly pauses, and stands irresolute.
Some strange, mysterious dread Enthrals my sense. I would approach, and sudden The ice-cold grasp of terror holds me back!
[To BEATRICE, who has thrown herself between her and the bier.
Whate'er it be, I will unveil----
[On raising the pall she discovers the body of DON MANUEL.
Eternal Powers! it is my son!
[She stands in mute horror. BEATRICE sinks to the ground with a shriek of anguish near the bier.
CHORUS.
Unhappy mother! 'tis thy son. Thy lips Have uttered what my faltering tongue denied.
ISABELLA.
My soul! My Manuel! Oh, eternal grief!
And is it thus I see thee? Thus thy life Has bought thy sister from the spoiler's rage?
Where was thy brother? Could no arm be found To s.h.i.+eld thee? Oh, be cursed the hand that dug These gory wounds! A curse on her that bore The murderer of my son! Ten thousand curses On all their race!
CHORUS.
Woe! Woe!
ISABELLA.
And is it thus Ye keep your word, ye G.o.ds? Is this your truth?
Alas for him that trusts with honest heart Your soothing wiles! Why have I hoped and trembled?
And this the issue of my prayers! Attend, Ye terror-stricken witnesses, that feed Your gaze upon my anguish; learn to know How warning visions cheat, and boding seers But mock our credulous hopes; let none believe The voice of heaven!
When in my teeming womb This daughter lay, her father, in a dream Saw from his nuptial couch two laurels grow, And in the midst a lily all in flames, That, catching swift the boughs and knotted stems Burst forth with crackling rage, and o'er the house Spread in one mighty sea of fire. Perplexed By this terrific dream my husband sought The counsels of the mystic art, and thus p.r.o.nounced the sage: "If I a daughter bore, The murderess of his sons, the destined spring Of ruin to our house, the baleful child Should see the light."
Chorus (CAJETAN and BOHEMUND).
What hast thou said, my mistress?
Woe! Woe!
