Comic Tragedies Part 13

Rienzi . . . . . . . _A Traitor._

THE GREEK SLAVE.

SCENE FIRST.

[_Apartment in the palace of_ Irene.

Irene, _reclining upon a divan._]

Irene. How strange a fate is mine! Young, fair, and highborn, I may not choose on whom I will bestow my love! Betrothed to a prince whom I have never seen; compelled to honor and obey one whom my heart perchance can never love, alas! alas!

And yet, they tell me that Constantine is n.o.ble, brave, and good. What more can I desire? Ah, if he do but love me I shall be content [_noise without; she rises_]. Hark! 'tis his messenger approaching with letters from the queen, his mother. I will question this amba.s.sador, and learn yet more of this young prince, my future husband [_seats herself with dignity_].

[_Enter_ Rienzi. _Kneels, presenting a letter._

Rienzi. The queen, my mistress, sends thee greeting, lady, and this scroll. May it please thee, read. I await your pleasure.

Irene [_takes the letter and reads_]. My lord, with a woman's curiosity, I fain would ask thee of thy prince, whose fate the G.o.ds have linked with mine. Tell me, is he tender, true, and n.o.ble? Answer truly, I do command thee.

Rienzi. Lady, he is tender as a woman, gentle as thy heart could wish, just and brave as a king should ever be. The proudest lady in all Greece were well matched with our n.o.ble Constantine.

Irene. And is he fair to look upon? Paint me his likeness, if thou canst.

Rienzi. I can but ill perform that office. Thou must see if thou wouldst rightly know him. The G.o.ds have blessed him with a fair and stately form, a n.o.ble face, dark locks, and a king-like brow that well befits the crown that rests upon it. This is he, our brave young prince; one to honor, lady; one to trust and--love.

Irene. 'Tis a n.o.ble man thou hast painted. One more question and thou mayst retire. Hath he ever spoken of her who is to be his wife? Nay, why do I fear to ask thee? Does he love her?

Rienzi. Lady, I beg thee ask me not. Who could fail to love when once he had looked upon thee?

Irene. Thou canst not thus deceive me. Answer truly: What doth he think of this betrothal and approaching marriage?

Rienzi. He hath not seen thee, princess, knows of thee nothing save that thou art beautiful, and one day to become his wife. But he is young, and hath no wish to wed, and even his mother's prayers have failed to win his free consent to this most cherished plan, that by uniting thy fair kingdom unto his, he can gain power over other lands and beautify our own.

Irene. Perchance his heart is given to another. Has no fair Grecian maiden won the love he cannot offer me?

Rienzi. Nay, lady. He loves nought but his mother, his subjects, and his native land. But soon we trust, when thou art by his side, a deeper love will wake within him, and thou wilt be dearer than country, home, or friends.

Irene. 'Tis well; thou mayst retire. I will send answer by thee to thy queen, and seek some gift that may be worthy her acceptance. And now, adieu! [Rienzi _bows and retires._] He does not love me, then, and I must wed a cold and careless lord. And yet--so tender to all others, he could not be unkind to me alone.

Oh, that I could win his love unknown, and then when truly mine, to cast away the mask, and be myself again. Stay! let me think. Ah, yes; I see a way. Surely the G.o.ds have sent the thought! I will disguise me as a slave, and as a gift sent to his mother, I can see and learn to know him well. I will return with the amba.s.sador, Rienzi. I spake to him of a gift. He little thinks in the veiled slave he shall bear away, the princess is concealed. Yes, Constantine, as a nameless girl will Irene win thy heart; and when as a wife she stands beside thee, thou shalt love her for herself alone.

[_Tableau._

CURTAIN.

SCENE SECOND.

[_A room in the palace of_ The Queen.

The Queen _alone._]

Queen. Why comes he not? They told me that our amba.s.sador to the Princess Irene had returned, and bore a gift for me. Would that it were a picture of herself! They say she is wondrous fair; and could my wayward son but gaze upon her, his heart might yet be won. [_Enter_ Irene, _disguised as the slave,_ Ione.] Ah, a stranger! Who art thou?

[Ione _kneels and presents a letter._

Queen [_reads the letter_]. Ah, welcome! Thy mistress tells me she hath chosen from among her train the fairest and most faithful of her slaves, as a gift for me. With thanks do I accept thee. Lift thy veil, child, that I may see how our maidens do compare with thee. [Ione _lifts her veil._ The Queen _gazes in surprise at her beauty._] Thou art too beautiful to be a slave. What is thy name?

Ione. Ione; may it please thee, lady.

Queen. 'Tis a fit name for one so fair; and thy country, maiden?

Ione. With the princess, my kind mistress, have I dwelt for many happy years; and honored by her choice now offer my poor services to thee.

Queen. What canst thou do, Ione? Thou art too fair and delicate to bear the heavy water-urn or gather fruit.

Ione. I can weave garlands, lady; touch the harp, and sing sweet songs; can bear thee wine, and tend thy flowers. I can be true and faithful, and no task will be too hard for thy grateful slave, Ione.

Queen. Thou shalt find a happy home with me, and never grieve for thy kind mistress. And now, listen while I tell thee what thy hardest task shall be. I will confide in thee, Ione, for thou art no common slave, but a true and gentle woman whom I can trust and love. Thou hath heard thy lady is betrothed to my most n.o.ble son; and yet, I grieve to say, he loves her not. Nay, in the struggle 'gainst his heart, hath lost all gayety and strength, and even the name Irene will chase the smile away.

He loves no other, yet will not offer her his hand when the heart that should go with it feels no love for her who is to be his wife. I honor this most n.o.ble feeling; yet could he know the beauty and the worth of thy fair lady, he yet might love. Thou shalt tell him this: all the kind deeds she hath done, the gentle words she hath spoken; all her loveliness and truth thou shalt repeat; sing thou the songs she loved; weave round his cups the flowers she wears; and strive most steadfastly to gain a place within his heart for love and Lady Irene. Canst thou, wilt thou do this, Ione?

Ione. Dear lady, all that my poor skill can do shall yet be tried. I will not rest till he shall love my mistress as she longs to be beloved.

Queen. If thou canst win my son to health and happiness again, thou shalt be forever my most loved, most trusted friend. The G.o.ds bless thee, child, and give thy work success! Now rest thee here. I will come ere long to lead thee to the prince.

[_Exit_ The Queen.

Ione. All goes well; and what an easy task is mine! To minister to him whom I already love; to sing to him, weave garlands for his brow, and tell him of the thoughts stirring within my heart. Yes, I most truly long to see him whom all love and honor. The G.o.ds be with me, and my task will soon be done.

CURTAIN.

SCENE THIRD.

[_Another room in the palace._ Constantine, _sad and alone._]

Con. Another day is well-nigh pa.s.sed, and nearer draws the fate I dread.

Why must I give up all the bright dreams of my youth, and wed a woman whom I cannot love?

They tell me she is young and fair, but I seek more than that in her who is to pa.s.s her life beside me. Youth and beauty fade, but a n.o.ble woman's love can never die. Oh, Irene, if thou couldst know how hard a thing it is to take thee, princess though thou art! [_Enter_ Ione.] Ah, lady, thou hast mistaken thy way! Let me lead thee to the queen's apartments.

Ione. Nay, my lord; I have come from her. She bid me say it was her will that I, her slave, should strive with my poor skill to while away the time till she could join thee.

Con. Thou, a slave? By the G.o.ds! methought it was some highborn lady,--nay, even the Princess Irene herself, seeking the queen, my mother.

Ione. She was my mistress, and bestowed me as a gift upon the queen.

This scroll is from her hand. May it please thee, read it [_kneels and presents letter_].

Con. Rise, fair maiden! I would rather listen to thy voice. May I ask thee to touch yon harp? I am weary, and a gentle strain will sooth my troubled spirit. Stay! let me place it for thee.