hopes, and by my dead mother's spirit, I would never listen to thy words
of love. And stern and cruel tho' my father be, I cannot leave him now.
Deep and bitter though this sorrow be, 'tis nobler far to bear the
burden than to cast it down and seek in idle joys to banish penitence;
for thorns would lie amid the flowers. Farewell! Forget me, and in happy
England find some other heart to gladden with thy love. Oh, may she
prove as fond and faithful as thy Moorish Zara.
Ernest. I will plead no more, nor add to that sad heart another sorrow.
I will be worthy such true love, and though we meet no more on earth, in
all my wanderings sweet tender thoughts of thee shall dwell within my
heart. I will bear my sorrow as a brave man should. The life thou hast
saved and brightened by thy love shall yet be worthy thee. Farewell! May
all the blessings a devoted heart can give rest on thee, dearest. Heaven
bless thee, and grant that we shall meet again.
[_Exit._
Zara. Gone, gone, forever! Oh, Father, couldst thou know the deep grief
and despair thy cruelty has brought two loving hearts, thou wouldst
relent, and call them back to happiness. Where can I look for comfort
now? [_Weeps._] I will seek the good priest who hath so long watched
above the motherless child. I must find rest in some kind heart, and he
will cheer, and teach me how to suffer silently. I will seek old
Hernando's cell.
[_Exit_ Zara.
CURTAIN.
SCENE EIGHTH.
[_Cell of the priest._
Hernando _reading_. _Enter_ Zara.]
Zara. Father, I have come for help and counsel. Wilt thou give it now as
thou hast ever done to her who comes to learn of thee how best to bear a
sorrow cheerfully and well?
Her. Speak on, dear child. I know thy sorrow. Thou hast loved, and
sacrificed thy own life's joy to win a brave heart's freedom. Thou hast
done nobly and well; thy sorrow will but render thee more worthy of the
happiness thou hast so truly won.
Zara. No, no; we shall never meet again on earth. Ah, holy father, they
who told thee of my love for one who well might win the noblest heart,
have told thee but the lightest part of the deep grief that bears me
down. Listen to me, Father, and then give me comfort if thou canst. To
win my lover's freedom, I have sworn a solemn oath to wed none but of my
father's race. Ernest came from sunny England, and I am the daughter of
a Moorish lord. Alas, 'tis vain to hope! The vow is given, and must be
kept.
Her. Ay, Zara, and it may be kept; but these sad tears will change to
sighs of joy when I have told thee all. Then thou wilt bless the vow
which brings thee sorrow now.
Zara. Oh, speak! Tell me what joy canst thou give to lighten grief like
mine! Give me not too much hope; for if it fail, despair thou canst not
banish will cast a deeper gloom o'er this poor heart. Now, tell me all.
Her. Calm thyself, poor child; it will be well with thee, and thou shalt
yet blossom in thy loveliness beside the heart thou hast won. I will
tell thee the true tale of thy fair mother's life. She loved and wed a
stranger, and thus won the hatred of her Moorish kindred, who sought to
win her for their prince's bride. And when she fled away with him to
whom her true heart's love was given, they vowed a fierce revenge. Years
passed away; she drooped and died. Thy father perished bravely on the
field of battle, and left his child to me. I stood beside thy mother's
dying bed, and vowed to guard her babe till thou wert safe among thy
Moorish kindred. I have watched thee well, and thou art worthy all the
happiness thy true heart hath won. Bernardo of Castile is but thy
mother's friend; thy father was an English lord, and thou canst keep thy
vow, and yet wed the brave young Englishman who hath won thy love.
Zara. Heaven pardon this wild, wilful heart that should mourn the sorrow
sent, when such deep joy as this is given. Ah, Father, how can I best
thank thee for the blessed comfort thou hast given?
Her. Thy joy, dear child, is my reward. When thou art safe with him
thou lovest, my task on earth is done, and I shall pass away with happy
thoughts of the sweet flower that bloomed beside the old man's path
through life, and cheered it with her love. Bless thee, my Zara, and may
the spirit of thy mother watch above thee in the happy home thou hast
gained by thy noble sacrifice.
Zara. Oh, Father, may the joy thy words have brought me brighten thine
own life as they have mine. The blessings of a happy heart be on thee.
Farewell, Father!
[_Kneels, kisses his hand. Exit._
CURTAIN.
SCENE NINTH.
[_Hall in the castle._
_Enter_ Zara.]
Zara. Selim said the packet would be here [_takes the paper_]. Ah, 'tis
from Ernest! He is near me,--we may meet again [_opens letter and
reads_].
Lady,--Thy father will this night betray the city to the
Spanish king, who hath promised his life and liberty for this
treachery. He will not keep his oath, and thy father will be
slain. Then bid him fly, and save all he most loves, for no
mercy will be shown to those within the walls when once the
Spanish army enters there. Save thyself. Heaven bless thee.
Ernest.
Brave and true unto the last! O heart! thou mayst well beat proudly, for
thou hast won a noble prize in the love of Ernest L'Estrange. Time
flies; this night the city is betrayed, and we must fly. Bernardo, lord
of fair Castile, is a traitor. Ah, thank Heaven he is _not_ my father!
Yet for the love I bore him as a child, he shall be saved; and I will
cheer and comfort him now that the dark hour of his life has come.
[_Enter_ Bernardo.
Ber. Zara, why dost thou look thus on me? I come to bid thee gather all
thou dost most prize, for the army is before the city, and we may be
conquered ere to-morrow's sun shall set.
Zara. Seek not to deceive me. I know all; and the love I bore thee as my
father is now turned to pity and contempt for the traitor who will this
night betray Castile.
Ber. Girl, beware, lest thy wild folly anger me too far! What meanest
thou? Who has dared to tell thee this?
Zara. Thou wouldst betray, and art thyself betrayed; and were it not for
him whom thou hast wronged and hunted, ere to-morrow's dawn thou wouldst
be no more, and I a homeless wanderer. Here! read the scroll, and see
how well the false king keeps his word he plighted thee for thy deed of
treachery.
Ber. [_reads, and drops the paper_]. Lost! lost! Fool that I was to
trust the promise of a king! Disgraced, dishonored, and betrayed! Where
find a friend to help me now? [_Weeps._]
Zara. Here,--in the child who clings to thee through danger, treachery,
and death. Trust to the love of one whom once thou loved, and who still
longs to win thee back to happiness and honor.
Ber. Nay, child, I trust thee not. I have deceived thee and blighted all
thy hopes of love. Thou canst not care for the dishonored traitor. Go!
tell my guilt to those I would this night deliver up to death, and win a
deep revenge for all the wrong I have done thee. I am in thy power now.
Zara [_tearing the paper_]. And thus do I use it! No eye shall ever read
these words that do betray thee; no tongue call down dishonor on thy
head. Thy plot is not yet known, and ere to-night the gates may be well
guarded. Thou mayst fly in safety, and none ever know the stain upon thy
name. Thou whom I once called father, this is my revenge. I know all the
wrong thou hast done me,--the false vow I made to save the life of him I
loved. Zara's pity and forgiveness are thine, freely given; and her
prayer is that thou mayst find happiness in some fair land where only
gentle thoughts and loving memories may be thine.
Ber. Thou hast conquered, Zara; my proud heart is won by thy tender pity
and most generous pardon to one who hath so deeply wronged thee. But I
will repay the debt I owe thee. Thou shalt find again the loving father
and the faithful friend of thy young life. Thou shalt know how well
Bernardo can atone for all the sorrow he hath brought thee.
Zara. And I will be again thy faithful child.
Ber. 'Tis well; and now, my Zara, ere the dawn of another day we must
be far beyond the city gates. Selim shall guide us, and once free,
together we will seek another and a happier home. Courage, my child, and
haste thee. I will prepare all for our flight. Remember, when the turret
bell strikes seven, we meet again.
[_Embraces_ Zara, _and exit_.
Zara. Farewell! I will not fail thee. Love, joy, and hope may fade, but
duty still remains. Oh, Ernest, couldst thou but see thy own true Zara
now! Wouldst thou could aid me! [_Enter_ Ernest _disguised_.] Ah, who
comes? A stranger. Speak! thine errand!
Ernest [_kneeling, presents a scroll_]. An English knight without the
gates did bid me seek thee with this scroll. May it please thee, read.
Zara [_opens and reads_].
Lady,--Thou mayst trust the messenger. He will lead thee in
safety to one who waits for thee. Delay not; danger is around
thee.
Thine, Ernest.
Ah, here! so near me! Hope springs anew within my heart. Yes, I will go.
Homeless, friendless no more! Happy Zara! joy now awaits thee. Yet
stay!--my promise to Bernardo! I cannot leave him thus in danger, and
alone. What shall I do? Oh, Ernest, where art thou now?
Ernest [_throwing off disguise, and kneeling before her_]. Here, dearest
Zara! here at thy feet, to offer thee a true heart's fond devotion. To
thee I owe life, liberty, and happiness. Ah, let me thus repay the debt
of gratitude. Thy love shalt be my bright reward; my heart thy refuge
from all danger now. Wilt thou not trust me?
Zara. Ernest, thou knowest my heart is thine, and that to thee I trust
with joy my life and happiness. No vow stands now between us. I am
thine.
Ernest. Then let us hence. All is prepared; thy father shall be saved.
This night shall see us on our way to liberty; and in a fairer land we
may forget the danger, sorrow, and captivity that have been ours. Come,
dearest, let me lead thee.
Zara. I come; and, Ernest, 'mid the joy and bright hopes of the future,
let us not forget the sorrow and the sacrifice that hath won for us this
happiness; and mayst thou ne'er regret the hour that gave to thee the
love of the Moorish maiden, Zara.
CURTAIN.
THE GREEK SLAVE.
CHARACTERS.
Constantine . . . . . _Prince betrothed to Irene._
Queen Zelneth . . . . . _His Mother._
Irene . . . . . . . _The Greek Princess._
Ione . . . . . . . _The Greek Slave._
Helon . . . . . . . _A Priest._
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 noble, 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 ambassador, 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 gods have linked
with mine. Tell me, is he tender, true, and noble? 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 noble 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 gods have blessed him with a fair and stately
form, a noble 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 noble 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 gods 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 ambassador, 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 ambassador 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 noble 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 noble 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 gods 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 gods 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 passed, 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 pass her life beside me. Youth and beauty fade, but a noble
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 gods! 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.
[_Prince moves the harp and gazes upon_ Ione _as she sings and
plays._
The wild birds sing in the orange groves,
And brightly bloom the flowers;
The fair earth smiles 'neath a summer sky
Through the joyous fleeting hours.
But oh! in the slave girl's lonely heart,
Sad thoughts and memories dwell,
And tears fall fast as she mournfully sings,
Home, dear home, farewell!
Though the chains they bind be all of flowers,
Where no hidden thorn may be,
Still the free heart sighs 'neath its fragrant bonds,
And pines for its liberty.
And sweet, sad thoughts of the joy now gone,
In the slave girl's heart shall dwell,
As she mournfully sings to her sighing harp,
Native land, native land, farewell!
Con. 'Tis a plaintive song. Is it thine own lot thou art mourning? If
so, thou art a slave no longer.
Ione. Nay, my lord. It was one my Lady Irene loved, and thus I thought
would please thee.
Con. Then never sing it more,--speak not her name! Nay, forgive me if I
pain thee. She was thy mistress, and thou didst love her. Was she kind
to thee? By what name shall I call thee?
Ione. Ione, your Highness. Ah, yes; she was too kind. She never spake a
cruel word, nor chid me for my many faults. Never can I love another as
I loved my gentle mistress.
Con. And is she very fair? Has she no pride, no passion or disdain to
mar her loveliness? She is a princess; is she a true and tender woman
too?
Ione. Though a princess, 'neath her royal robes there beats a warm, true
heart, faithful and fond, longing to be beloved and seeking to be worthy
such great joy when it shall come. Thou ask'st me of her beauty.
Painters place her face among their fairest works, and sculptors carve
her form in marble. Yes, she is beautiful; but 'tis not that thou
wouldst most care for. Couldst thou only know her!--pardon, but I think
thou couldst not bear so cold a heart within thy breast as now.
Con. Ah, do not cease! say on! There is that in the music of thy voice
that soothes and comforts me. Come, sit beside me, fair Ione, and I will
tell thee why I do not love thy princess.
Ione. You do forget, my lord, I am a slave; I will kneel here.
[_Prince reclines upon a couch._ Ione _kneels beside him._
Con. Listen! From a boy I have been alone; no loving sister had I, no
gentle friend,--only cold councillors or humble slaves. My mother was a
queen, and 'mid the cares of State, tho' fondly loving me, her only son,
could find no time to win me from my lonely life.
Thus, tho' dwelling 'neath a palace roof with every wish supplied, I
longed most fondly for a friend. And now, ere long, a crown will rest
upon my head, a nation bend before me as their king. And now more
earnestly than ever do I seek one who can share with me the joys and
cares of my high lot,--a woman true and noble, to bless me with her
love.
Ione. And could not the Princess Irene be to thee all thou hast dreamed?
Con. I fear I cannot love her. They told me she was beautiful and
highborn; and when I sought to learn yet more, 'twas but to find she
was a cold, proud woman, fit to be a queen, but not a loving wife. Thus
I learned to dread the hour when I must wed. Yet 'tis my mother's will;
my country's welfare calls for the sacrifice, and I must yield myself.
Ione. They who told thee she was proud and cold do all speak falsely.
Proud she is to those who bow before her but to gain some honor for
themselves, and cold to such as love her for her royalty alone. But if a
fond and faithful heart, and a soul that finds its happiness in noble
deeds can make a queen, Irene is worthy of the crown she will wear. And
now, if it please thee, I will seek the garden; for thy mother bid me
gather flowers for the feast. Adieu, my lord! [_She bows, her veil
falls_; Constantine _hands it to her._] Nay, kings should not bend to
serve a slave, my lord.
Con. I do forget myself most strangely. There, take thy veil, and leave
me [_turns_ _aside_]. Nay, forgive me if I seem unkind, but I cannot
treat thee as a slave. Come, I will go with thee to the garden; thou art
too fair to wander unprotected and alone. Come, Ione [_leads her out_].
CURTAIN.
SCENE FOURTH.
[_The gardens of the palace._
Ione _weaving a garland._]
Ione. The rose is Love's own flower, and I will place it in the wreath I
weave for thee, O Constantine! Would I could bring it to thy heart as
easily! And yet, methinks, if all goes on as now, the slave Ione will
ere long win a prince's love. He smiles when I approach, and sighs when
I would leave him; listens to my songs, and saves the withered flowers I
gave him days ago. How gentle and how kind! Ah, noble Constantine, thou
little thinkest the slave thou art smiling on is the "proud, cold"
Princess Irene, who will one day show thee what a fond, true wife she
will be to thee [_sings_].
[_Enter_ Helon; _kneels to_ Ione.
Ione. Helon, my father's friend! thou here! Ah, hush! Betray me not! I
am no princess now. Rise, I do beseech thee! Kneel not to me.
Helon. Dear lady, why this secrecy? What dost thou here, disguised, in
the palace where thou art soon to reign a queen?
Ione. Hark! is all still? Yes; none are nigh! Speak low. I'll tell thee
all. Thou knowest the young prince loves me not,--nay, do not sigh; I
mean the princess, not the slave Ione, as I now call myself. Well, I
learned this, and vowed to win the heart he could not give; and so in
this slave's dress I journeyed hither with Rienzi, the ambassador, as a
gift unto the queen.
Thus, as a poor and nameless slave, I seek to win the noble Constantine
to life and love. Dost understand my plot, and wilt thou aid me, Father
Helon?
Helon. 'Tis a strange thought! None but a woman would have planned it.
Yes, my child, I will aid thee, and thou yet shall gain the happiness
thy true heart well deserves. We will talk of this yet more anon. I
came hither to see the prince. They told me he was pale and ill, in
sorrow for his hated lot. Say, is this so?
Ione. Ah, yes, most true; and I am cause of all this sorrow. Father,
tell me, cannot I by some great deed give back his health, and never
have the grief of knowing that he suffered because I was his bride? How
can I avert this fate? I will do all, bear all, if he may be saved.