THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS
A COMEDY
AND
OTHER POEMS
BY
AMY REDPATH RODDICK
Author of "The Flag and Other Poems"
"The Armistice and Other Poems"
"The Seekers, and Indian Mystery Play"
"The Birth of Montreal, a Chronicle Play, and Other Poems"
(_All Rights Reserved_)
=Montreal=
JOHN DOUGALL & SON
1922
CONTENTS
THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS, A Comedy 1
THE TALL PALMETTO 83
CHARLESTON 87
LAKE GEORGE 89
THE EVENING STAR 90
_THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS_
_A Comedy._
This play is the outcome of many happy walks in the forests that border
Charlemagne's ancient capital. The writer and her husband would often
pause to view some beauty-spot; at times she would read aloud the rare
legends collected by Joseph Muller.
She has now tried to catch some of the interest and joy of those gone by
summers to pass on to relatives and friends. If she has failed it is not
the fault of the theme.
Let none throw doubt on Emma's reality. Who lives in myth, lives for all
time.
A.R.R.
Montreal
Christmas, 1922.
CHARACTERS.
Emma _A Daughter of Charles_
Etta _Her Waiting-woman_
Charles (Charlemagne) _King-Emperor_
Eginhardt _Secretary and Director of Public Works_
Albert _Count of the Palace_
Hildebold _Archbishop_
Ernst _A Charcoal-burner_
Guta _His Wife_
David _A Precocious Boy_
Audulf }
Herbert } _Courtiers_
Courtiers, Wish-maidens, Elves.
Time: The beginning of the ninth century.
Place: Aquisgranum, the Capital of Frankland.
ACT I.
_Scene.—Emma's boudoir. A door on the left leads to the palace
courtyard; another, centre back, opens into private apartments,
which have no other entrance. The room is furnished befitting the
dignity of a princess. Emma, in gala-attire, has just returned from
a great function in honour of the Calif Haroun-al-Rashid's
ambassadors. Etta helps remove her cloak. The princess then throws
herself on a couch, while Etta stands before her admiringly._
_Emma._ A moment's rest to gather memories
Of what this day has meant; those swarthy Eastern
Ambassadors! the gifts their king has sent.
_Etta._ How beautiful you are! In Frankland, who
Approaches you in mind or character?
That's what the scholars say. The people though
Dwell on your loveliness. What plaudits when
You rode that bulky beast! the contrast! a Princess,
Alive with happiness.
_Emma._ 'Twas wonderful
To mount so high, an elephant for steed,
To feel that heavy, ambling gait, to know
Such strength for mischief could be chained to work
Man's will. How kind of great Haroun to give
The King, my Father, this unwieldy proof
Of his affection; to teach such animals
Are real, not fabled monsters, as some of us
Have whispered! 'Twas tremulous that ride, up-perched
Above the marvelling throng; to feel myself,
A Frankish maid, upon that leathery
Ungainliness. An elephant in Europe!
Who'd have thought to see the day? But now
Unbind my hair. [_In a low voice._] I think he will not come
Tonight. [_A knocking is heard._] 'Tis he! but no, my Father's knock,
So tender yet so masterful. Thou may'st
Retire. I'll wait upon his royal pleasure,
Will then disrobe myself.
[_Etta opens door on the left.
Enter Charles in ceremonial robes, wearing his crown.
Exit Etta through the door at the centre back after
making deep obeisance._]
You come attired
In majesty. [_Courtesying._] I must acclaim you King,
Not Father.
_Charles._ [_Pressing her against his breast._] Nay, nay, my
birdling! nestle here;
My dear Fastrada's legacy; a father's
Sweet solace; the Esther of our court. I could
Deny thee nought, unless a lover should
Address thine ears: avaunt the thought! The well
Of our fair intercourse is clear, undimmed.
As cloudless skies of sun-blessed Eastern lands.
_Emma._ O Father! what dread shapes may lurk beneath
Those Eastern skies! each soul has got some stain,
Some hidden mystery.
_Charles._ This day's excitement
Has tired, provoked reaction. Once a Bishop
Complained to me that nuns need long confessing.
Imagined sins are culled for penitence;
In baser lives these specks would pass unnoticed.
We'll rid such faults as thine with kisses; perchance
A wayward thought when Holy Words were spoken.
And now uncrown the King, then help remove
This cumbrous mantle.—Cautiously! I've something
Of great import.
_Emma._ But not as great as that
Great beast, the elephant!
_Charles._ Far weightier,
As Heaven outvies the earth, as souls are more
Than flesh. See here, my birdling, what I've brought.
_Emma._ Some ragged silk, a joke!—It cannot be—
_Charles._ Thine eyes have guessed; the sacred coverings!
O to-day how all have gaped, and cheered
That elephant, at most a curious
Phenomenon, distracting from rich gifts
Of sober worth. In truth now royalty
Resides in this new Western Rome, a fairer
Than earthly crown implies. Haroun, my brother,
Has raised and honoured us.
_Emma._ Among the Scholars
I've heard some doubts expressed.
_Charles._ Most ill-advised.
Rank heresy, as well doubt Holy Church
Herself. The proofs are clear; nor flaw, nor break.
These hallowed relics, damped with tears by him
Of Arimathaea, held in sacred trust
By his descendants, traced each step till now
They rest within our great Basilica,
Are here to stay, to gratify, as long
As Franks are true and strong. See! see! my birdling,
This rosy silk was round the cloth that held,
One time, St. John, the Baptist's bleeding head;
This white encased the Virgin's dress; this yellow,
The precious Infant's swaddling clothes; and this
That's dyed with scarlet pomp has clasped within
Its folds the loin-cloth, garment of the cross.
Yes! yes! my lips have pressed those objects, I
Am nearer God.
_Emma._ This silk?
_Charles._ The holy relics
Are wrapped afresh in lustrous lengths of rare
Brocade, a further gift brought by Haroun's
Ambassadors—the Church's treasury
Holds them in state. This tattered silk that age
Unfits for service still retains great virtue
From sacredness long stored. And who is pure
Enough to shelter it? I know of none
But thee, Fastrada's living image!
_Emma._ A father's
Affectionate regard has blinded thee.
O take that stuff! 'Twould shrink to powdered dust
Did I but handle it.
_Charles._ Nay, nay, my Emma,
There is a point where modesty doth lose
Its charm and gives affront. That point is reached;
So fetch my cloak and fasten its jeweled clasp.
Now crown the Emperor, he prays that angels
May watch thy bed. [_He kisses Emma. Exit left._]
_Emma._ That silk! how can I keep it?
Its folds have touched what once hath touched God's Prophet,
His Mother, His very Self. O some one come
And take it hence.—Or—or is't possible
To make me worthy? e'en though hearts be crushed.
[_A light knock is heard._]
And so the test approaches! May I be strengthened.
[_Emma opens the door on the left. Enter Eginhardt._]
_Eginhardt._ It promises a blustery night. Wait Love,
Until I brush these flakes, a sudden swirl
Of snow; but here there's warmth and comfort. [_Extending his arms._]
My Emma—
_Emma._ Not yours, a Princess speaks, a gulf has widened
Since last we met. You recognize that silk?
It heals the secret breach I've made within
A Father's confidence, it warns that you
Must leave me now and instantly. You are
The King, my Father's trusted friend.
_Eginhardt._ O Emma!
Thy words bite deep—and yet not deep enough
To overthrow the airy castles hewn
From glowing hope. And see what thing has winged
My steps, has brought me here to-night.
_Emma._ A ring!
It seems to draw my hand; but no, 'tis for
Some humble maid, who'll taste the happiness
My rank denies.
_Eginhardt._ Who else can wear this ring
That Queen Fastrada prized?
_Emma._ [_Taking the ring._] My Mother's ring!
How came it here?
_Eginhardt._ [_Sitting on the couch._] Thou know'st the
story?
_Emma._ [_Sitting on a stool near him._] A rumor,
Unmeant to reach the King, my Father's ears,
And so 'twas crushed. But now the ring I hold
Demands the truth. O Eginhardt, tell all,
Omitting nought, e'en though the listening hurts.
_Eginhardt._ A lesser soul might rather seek relief
From words unsaid; but thou, with thy clear eyes,
Need'st probe beneath like—
_Emma._ Like that Father; whose
Sweet confidence has been outwitted.
_Eginhardt._ Rather
Betrayed unwittingly, a force outside
Ourselves.
_Emma._ That can be crushed; but first we'll hear
Thy story. O Eginhardt, how easily
The dear familiar "thy" slips mouthwards. Let
It be, until the story's told; or as
A master, well-beloved, thou mayest speak;
Whilst I sit here, a mindful pupil.
_Eginhardt._ Thou hast
Thy Mother's grace, her wit and understanding,
Thy soul surpasses hers. I but repeat
Archbishop Turpin's words.
_Emma._ I thought at times
She lacked a something, a mother's tenderness;
But then her smile would reassure.
_Eginhardt._ Her bright
Intelligence, her merry laughter, her fresh
And dazzling beauty so enthralled the King;
If she but raised her little finger, he,
The Lord of millions, hastened to obey.
And thus it went; although her wishes might
Disturb a court, a city or a kingdom;
The erst so pious Charles exalted one;
Who should have grovelled at his feet.
_Emma._ You speak
About my Mother?
_Eginhardt._ Whose beauty is thy dower;
Whose baser parts are long forgotten. Death
Came stealthily—the King refused belief.
For days and nights he knelt beside the couch,
His arms supporting one whose soul had fled.
"She is not dead," he cried, "She sweetly slumbers."
He waved aside, as thou rememberest,
All food and drink, became well-nigh demented,
Completely losing that serene composure,
That seemed as much himself as kingly might.
"She is not dead;" his eyes blazed wrathfully,
While honeyed murmurs passed his lips: "Thou wilt
Awaken, little one." None dared suggest
The funeral plans, nor place of burial.
At last his life seemed doomed with hers. A vague
Uneasiness had turned to fear. 'Twas whispered
His death would loosen war and misery,
The century's near-close would end Earth's cycle.
Lamenting moans were heard within the Church
And prayers of intercession. All this thou knowest.
But not what follows, the fruit of supplication.
The good Archbishop Turpin saw, one night,
Amid the Queen's long-braided tresses, the glint
Of hidden gold that shimmered through his dreams.
When daylight broke he stole beside the King
And softly slipped his hand beneath the dead
Fastrada's hair. He drew the visioned ring;
Whose magic power had slaved the mighty Charles.
Relieved, the King looked round in wonderment.
He recognized his loss—and God consoled.
_Emma._ He never afterwards remembered, nor knew
About the ring, although the story, much
Disguised, had somewhat leaked. Please tell me further.
_Eginhardt._ The kind Archbishop, ever the King's most trusted
Adviser, now became his closest friend.
He used his influence for good; but Saints
Become discredited when fortune strews
Her favours. Tongues wagged ill-naturedly, until
Such wordy mud was stirred the Prelate felt
Its spatterings and realized the cause—
The fatal talisman. He stood beside
Those stringing ponds that rim so pleasantly
The new-built hunting lodge. A sudden splash
The ring had vanished.
_Emma._ My Father often sits
And broods beside the larger pond.
_Eginhardt._ I've noticed;
So had it searched most carefully. Last night
The ring was found. Conceal it 'mid thy pearls,
Then tell the King thou lov'st his servant. He will
Refuse thee nought.
_Emma._ Can we buy happiness
At such a price? win lasting peace and true,
Sustaining joy? [_She moves and, unnoticing,
brushes the silk from the table._] O see! the silk has
fallen.
I cannot leave it crumpled there, nor can
I touch it, while I touch this charm. I pray thee,
Take it. [_She hands him the ring, then sobbing gathers
up the silk and smooths it._] 'Tis not like thee, my Eginhardt,
To tempt with specious words. Return that ring
To watery depths. May skies reflected cleanse;
May lovers, bending o'er the forest pool,
Gain bliss that's unalloyed with earth-born slime.
_Eginhardt._ How oft have we exchanged love's vows beside
That selfsame pool, shall we no more, my Emma,
Though others may?
_Emma._ Suppose I took that ring;
The King, my Father, gave consent; the Church,
Reluctant blessing; how long would'st thou escape
The soot that smudged my Mother's fame, the good
Archbishop? Suppose, without that slender circlet,
We begged the King, my Father; would he not banish
Whom he calls foster-son?—his minister
Of public works, his faithful secretary,
His youngest councillor, and, summing all,
His poet-friend and mine. My fate would be
A convent cell, to meditate on mischief
That can be pushed aside. Dear Eginhardt,
Bid me adieu and when we meet thou'lt be
My teacher, who recites a nation's songs;
But dwells not on his own, nor hers who sends
Him forth.
_Eginhardt._ O Emma, pray God that I have strength.
Our secret meetings gave fresh life, all else,
Methinks, is death.
_Emma._ [_holding her finger up._] Hark!
[_Distant singing is faintly heard.... Emma
opens door, left. Eginhardt throws a cloak
over her. They stand looking out._]
_A watchman sings without._
Here are lodged the sacred clothes;
Bow your heads and stainless be.
Earth is draped with glistening snows,
Garbed anew with purity.
Let each soul be undefiled,
God and man be reconciled.
Let each soul be undefiled,
God and man be reconciled.——
_Emma._ The watchman's song has drifted from his tower.
He steps within. O seize the moment, fly!
_Eginhardt._ [_He makes a movement, then stops._] But Emma! that
snow—unspotted—
_Emma._ That glitters 'neath
The moon! It seems a miracle. The day
Was pleasant, almost summer-like, then came
A sudden wind with flurries, and, though scarce
Ten minutes since thou cam'st, the court is now
Completely carpeted and all so still—
So cold—but beautiful.
_Eginhardt._ A miracle
Whose cost will be my life and thine mayhap.
_Emma._ Thy words must have some meaning?
_Eginhardt._ A woeful one.
If I should dare the lightest step, that snow
Would hold its trace, would witness 'gainst this night's
Adventure; and death must be the penalty.
Death!—The chill of winter. Shut it out.
I'll spend my last few hours in warmth by thee.
_Emma._ I can't believe——let us but think, we'll find
A passage, some how, some where.
_Eginhardt._ But where? that is
The only path as blocked as though with walls
Of solid masonry.
_Emma._ A loophole glints,
Nay, now a streaming light. A woman's print
Might track the court and back, 'twould raise no comment.
The Princess Emma's maid has gone betimes
Some errand, has then returned.
_Eginhardt._ And what of that?
_Emma._ Hast thou no inkling? Dearest Eginhardt,
I'll carry thee across the court.
_Eginhardt._ Thou must
Be crazed, suggesting such a thought, an angel
To masquerade as beast of burden.
_Emma._ But 'tis
Our only chance; remembering, if we
Should fail, the King, my Father, who must pass judgment,
Would suffer consequence as we. We'll seize
The chance!
_Eginhardt._ O Emma, my sweetheart, beloved Princess,
What ills may happen thee if we should fail.
We'll take the chance.
_Emma._ Then quickly.
_Eginhardt._ But art thou strong
Enough to bear my weight so far? wilt thou
Not suffer strain?
_Emma._ Must I, a Frankish maid,
Explain my strength? Have I not heroes' blood
Within my veins? Are not my sinews those
That show descent from mighty warriors, prompt
In action, swift of purpose? Would I not shame
Such lineage, did I permit myself
To slip or falter? Besides 'tis nought but child's play—
My friend, thou hast a scholar's frame. Now take
A breath! then place thine arms around my neck.
I'll bear thee as a peasant's load upon
My back.
[_She totters for a second beneath Eginhardt's
weight._]
_Eginhardt._ Thou stagger'st?
_Emma._ Nay,—but breathe a prayer,
Twill help. [_She straightens herself._]
[_Exit Emma with Eginhardt on her back. After a
time she returns, panting, and closes the door._]
_Emma._ I've left him by the courtyard-gate
And none have seen. And O I feel such strange
Relief that dims the parting pang. Deceit
Is ended. I've freed myself to guard this silk.
May God protect!
[_She takes up a crucifix and kneels before the silk._]