The Poems of Emma Lazarus - LightNovelsOnl.com
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SCENE II.
On the road to Nordhausen. Moonlit, rocky landscape. On the right between high, white cliffs a narrow stream spanned by a wooden bridge. Thick bushes and trees. Enter PRINCE WILLIAM and PAGE.
PRINCE WILLIAM.
Is this the place where we shall find fresh steeds?
Would I had not dismounted!
PAGE.
Nay, sir; beyond The Werra bridge the horses wait for us.
These rotten planks would never bear their weight.
PRINCE WILLIAM.
When I am Landgrave these things shall be cared for.
This is an ugly spot for travellers To loiter in. How swift the water runs, Brawling above our voices. Human cries Would never reach Liborius' convent yonder, Perched on the sheer, chalk cliff. I think of peril, From my excess of joy. My spirit chafes, She that would breast broad-winged the air, must halt On stumbling mortal limbs. Look, thither, boy, How the black shadows of the tree-boles stripe The moon-blanched bridge and meadow.
PAGE.
Sir, what's that?
Yon stir and glitter in the bush?
PRINCE WILLIAM.
The moon, p.r.i.c.king the dewdrops, plays fantastic tricks With objects most familiar. Look again, And where thou sawst the steel-blue flicker glint, Thou findst a black, wet leaf.
PAGE.
No, no! O G.o.d!
Your sword, sir! Treason!
[Four armed masked men leap from out the bush, seize, bind, and overmaster, after a brief but violent resistance, the Prince and his servant.]
PRINCE WILLIAM.
Who are ye, villains? lying In murderous ambush for the Prince of Meissen?
If you be knights, speak honorably your names, And I will combat you in knightly wise.
If ye be robbers, name forthwith your ransom.
Let me but speed upon my journey now.
By Christ's blood! I beseech you, let me go!
Ho! treason! murder! help!
[He is dragged off struggling. Exeunt omnes.]
SCENE III.
Nordhausen. A room in SUSSKIND's house.
LIEBHAID and CLAIRE.
LIEBHAID.
Say on, poor girl, if but to speak these horrors Revive not too intense a pang.
CLAIRE.
Not so.
For all my woes seem here to merge their flood Into a sea of infinite repose.
Through France our journey led, as I have told, From desolation unto desolation.
Naught stayed my father's course--sword, storm, flame, plague, Exhaustion of the eighty year old frame, O'ertaxed beyond endurance. Once, once only, His divine force succ.u.mbed. 'T was at day's close, And all the air was one discouragement Of April snow-flakes. I was drenched, cold, sick, With weariness and hunger light of head, And on the open road, suddenly turned The whole world like the spinning flakes of snow.
My numb hand slipped from his, and all was blank.
His beard, his breath upon my brow, his tears Scalding my cheek hugged close against his breast, And in my ear deep groans awoke me. "G.o.d!"
I heard him cry, "try me not past my strength.
No prophet I, a blind, old dying man!"
Gently I drew his face to mine, and kissed, Whispering courage--then his spirit broke Utterly; shattered were his wits, I feared.
But past is past; he is at peace, and I Find shelter from the tempest. Tell me rather Of your serene life.
LIEBHAID.
Happiness is mute.
What record speaks of placid, golden days, Matched each with each as twins? Till yester eve My life was simple as a song. At whiles Dark tales have reached us of our people's wrongs, Strange, far-off anguish, furrowing with fresh care My father's brow, draping our home with gloom.
We were still blessed; the Landgrave is his friend-- The Prince--my Prince--dear Claire, ask me no more!
My adored enemy, my angel-fiend, Splitting my heart against my heart! O G.o.d, How shall I pray for strength to love him less Than mine own soul?
CLAIRE.
What mean these contrary words?
These pa.s.sionate tears?
LIEBHAID.
Brave girl, who art inured To difficult privation and rude pain, What good shall come forswearing kith and G.o.d, To follow the allurements of the heart?
CLAIRE.
Duty wears one face, but a thousand masks.
Thy feet she leads to glittering peaks, while mine She guides midst brambled roadways. Not the first Art thou of Israel's women, chosen of G.o.d, To rule o'er rulers. I remember me A verse my father often would repeat Out of our sacred Talmud: "Every time The sun, moon, stars begin again their course, They hesitate, trembling and filled with shame, Blush at the blasphemous wors.h.i.+p offered them, And each time G.o.d's voice thunders, crying out, On with your duty!"
Enter REUBEN.
REUBEN.
Sister, we are lost!
The streets are thronged with panic-stricken folk.
Wild rumors fill the air. Two of our tribe, Young Mordecai, as I hear, and old Baruch, Seized by the mob, were dragged towards Eisenach, Cruelly used, left to bleed out their lives, In the wayside ditch at night. This morn, betimes, The iron-hearted Governor of Salza Rides furious into Nordhausen; his horse, Spurred past endurance, drops before the gate.
The Council has been called to hear him read The Landgrave's message,--all men say, 'tis death Unto our race.
LIEBHAID.
