The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 456

DIEGO.

All shall yet be well; Fortune, propitious to our hopes, gave pledge Of bliss that time will show.

ISABELLA.

I praise not yet My natal star, while darkening o'er my fate This mystery hangs: too well the dire mischance Tells of the fiend whose never-slumbering rage Pursues our house. Now list what I have done, And praise or blame me as thou wilt; from thee My bosom guards no secret: ill I brook This dull repose, while swift o'er land and sea My sons unwearied, track their sister's flight, Yes, I have sought; heaven counsels oft, when vain All mortal aid.

DIEGO.

What I may know, my mistress, Declare.

ISABELLA.

On Etna's solitary height A reverend hermit dwells,--benamed of old The mountain seer,--who to the realms of light More near abiding than the toilsome race Of mortals here below, with purer air Has cleansed each earthly, grosser sense away; And from the lofty peak of gathered years, As from his mountain home, with downward glance Surveys the crooked paths of worldly strife.

To him are known the fortunes of our house; Oft has the holy sage besought response From heaven, and many a curse with earnest prayer Averted: thither at my bidding flew, On wings of youthful haste, a messenger, To ask some tidings of my child: each hour I wait his homeward footsteps.

DIEGO.

If mine eyes Deceive me not, he comes; and well his speed Has earned thy praise.

MESSENGER, ISABELLA, DIEGO.

ISABELLA (to MESSENGER).

Now speak, and nothing hide Of weal or woe; be truth upon thy lips!

What tidings bear'st thou from the mountain seer?

MESSENGER.

His answer: "Quick! retrace thy steps; the lost one Is found."

ISABELLA.

Auspicious tongue! Celestial sounds Of peace and joy! thus ever to my vows.

Thrice honored sage, thy kindly message spoke!

But say, which heaven-directed brother traced My daughter?

MESSENGER.

'Twas thy eldest born that found The deep-secluded maid.

ISABELLA.

Is it Don Manuel That gives her to my arms? Oh, he was ever The child of blessing! Tell me, hast thou borne My offering to the aged man? the tapers To burn before his saint? for gifts, the prize Of worldly hearts, the man of G.o.d disdains.

MESSENGER.

He took the torches from my hands in silence And stepping to the altar--where the lamp Burned to his saint--illumed them at his fire, And instant set in flames the hermit cell, Where he has honored G.o.d these ninety years!

ISABELLA.

What hast thou said? What horrors fright my soul?

MESSENGER.

And three times shrieking "Woe!" with downward course, He fled; but silent with uplifted arm Beckoned me not to follow, nor regard him So hither I have hastened, terror-sped.

ISABELLA.

Oh, I am tossed amid the surge again Of doubt and anxious fears; thy tale appals With ominous sounds of ill. My daughter found-- Thou sayest; and by my eldest born, Don Manuel?

The tidings ne'er shall bless, that heralded This deed of woe!

MESSENGER.

My mistress! look around Behold the hermit's message to thine eyes Fulfilled. Some charm deludes my sense, or hither Thy daughter comes, girt by the warlike train Of thy two sons!

[BEATRICE is carried in by the Second Chorus on a litter, and placed in the front of the stage. She is still without perception, and motionless.

ISABELLA, DIEGO, MESSENGER, BEATRICE.

Chorus (BOHEMUND, ROGER, HIPPOLYTE, and the other nine followers of DON CAESAR.)

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Here at thy feet we lay The maid, obedient to our lord's command: 'Twas thus he spoke--"Conduct her to my mother; And tell her that her son, Don Caesar, sends her!"

ISABELLA (is advancing towards her with outstretched arms, and starts back in horror).

Heavens! she is motionless and pale!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

She lives, She will awake, but give her time to rouse From the dread shock that holds each sense enthralled.

ISABELLA.

My daughter! Child of all my cares and pains!

And is it thus I see thee once again?

Thus thou returnest to thy father's halls!

Oh, let my breath relume thy vital spark; Yes! I will strain thee to a mother's arms And hold thee fast--till from the frost of death Released thy life-warm current throbs again.

[To the Chorus.

Where hast thou found her? Speak! What dire mischance Has caused this sight of woe?

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

My lips are dumb!

Ask not of me: thy son will tell thee all-- Don Caesar--for 'tis he that sends her.

ISABELLA 'Tell me Would'st thou not say Don Manuel?

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

'Tis Don Caesar That sends her to thee.

ISABELLA (to the MESSENGER).

How declared the Seer?

Speak! Was it not Don Manuel?

MESSENGER.

'Twas he!

Thy elder born.

ISABELLA.

Be blessings on his head Which e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter, Alas! that in this blissful hour, so long Expected, long implored, some envious fiend Should mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tide Of nature's transport! In her childhood's home I see my daughter; me she knows not--heeds not-- Nor answers to a mother's voice of love Ope, ye dear eyelids--hands be warm--and heave Thou lifeless bosom with responsive throbs To mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice!

The long-concealed--the lost--the rescued one!

Before the world I claim her for my own!