[Ardia keeps a listening attitude, not heeding the entrance of her brothers who come on left]
Char. Well, sons?
Bion. Ay, well! That is the word we bring.
Avesta's prince, the gracious Banissat,
Is now your sworn defender.
Ard. [Turning] And asks no price?
Bion. No more than your fair self, my sister.
Vig. [As Ardia stands silent] You doubt?
'Tis true. He'll make you princess!
Ard. He is old....
Bion. What call you old? He's in the fairest top
Of manhood.
Vig. Old!
Ard. And cannot sing....
Vig. Not sing!
Ard. What need have we of him? Can Oswald scale
These rock-barred heights?
Vig. Starvation can.
Ard. We've food
Will last three harvest moons.
Bion. And Oswald camps
Where plain and sea will feed ten thousand men
As many years.
Vig. While here our skeletons
With bleachèd grin may watch the feast below!
Ard. To starve ... is that so terrible? 'Tis but
One way of dying.
Vig. Dying?
Char. Say no more.
The morrow's dawn shall light my way to Oswald.
Bion. You'll go to him? Then death!
Vig. [To Ardia] See what you do?
Ard. Forgive me. [Runs to her father and clings to him]
Now! Bind me to Banissat.
Char. Nay, thou art free.
Bion. [To Ardia] Our lives shall thank you.
Vig. Thanks?
You speak her part.
[Ardia leaves her father and moves to edge of parapet]
Bion. [Following her] Dost know a better way?
Ard. I pray you, leave me.
Vig. Princess of Avesta!
Ard. Your supper waits.
Vig. [Starting right] Come, brother!
Char. Though I've supped,
I'll sit with you, my sons. Discourse is ever
The best dish at the board.
Bion. We thank you, sir.
[Exeunt Biondel, Vigard, Charilus, right]
Ard. And am I wooed and won? Dreams of a dream,
Where are ye now?... A lover with no song.
No carols stealing sweetness from the moon;
No trembling hand to drop a morning rose
Where I may walk.
[Takes a rose from her bosom and casts it away]
No rose.... no Vairdelan!
[Re-enter Gaina]
Gaina. Here, mistress? Dearie dear, a-weeping?
Ard. No.
Gaina. Say you were, 'twere a better sight than this fetching of dry sighs. They 'most take the skin of a woe that a little tear-water would bring up easy enough.
Ard. O, Gaina, Gaina, did you see my mother buried?
Gaina. Ay, 'twas a sweet grave we laid her in over in Corinth. You'll never make as pretty a corpse, my dear.
Ard. Was I there?
Gaina. Troth, you were, and trouble enough you gave me. You wanted to climb into the coffin and go to sleep too, you said.
Ard. O, had you buried me with her I should not have seen this day!
Gaina. Most like you wouldn't. Come, honey dove, come to your room and brighten yourself a bit. There's the new veil just begging to be looked at. I'll put it on you, and——
Ard. No, I don't want you. [Going, right]
Gaina. O, ho, I can read his name you do want, and not kill a bird for it either.
Ard. [Turning] Who, magpie? Who?
Gaina. Your eyes may save my tongue if they squint sou'west.
Ard. Is he coming?
Gaina. Who, my cuckoo? Who?
[Bertrand enters left. Ardia starts off right]
Ber. Ardia!
Ard. [Weakly, pausing at her door] Vairdelan....
Ber. Will not you stay?
Ard. I will return. [Exit]
Ber. Your mistress is not well?
Gaina. You've eyes, sir.
Ber. This fear of Oswald——
Gaina. Her trouble's nearer home, sir.
Ber. Her father——
Gaina. Nay, it wears no beard, though it may in time.
Ber. What troubles her, dear Gaina?
Gaina. A man, my lord.
Ber. A man!
Gaina. There, don't feel for your sword, for that's at home, and I never heard yet of spitting a man with a flute, though it may e'en go to the heart of a woman if she be young and soft like my mistress.
Ber. The truth, Gaina!
Gaina. I can spare it, sir. My master's daughter is so in love with you——
Ber. Angels do not love!
Gaina. That may be. I'm speaking of my mistress, "Magpie!" Not meaning you, sir.
Ber. She can not love me!
Gaina. That's what I said—at first. A roaming creature with only his cloak for shelter, though it's a good gentleman's weave, I'll allow, and I know you'll go away before her poor heart gets too heavy for carrying. It's nigh that now, and before you came it was so light she was tripping and chirping till I could 'a' sworn she had no heart at all—just toes and wings. And now, dear soul,—but you'll go, sir? You know you'd have to hunt the door soon enough if her brothers got a breath of what's between you.
Ber. There's nothing between us!
Gaina. A bat could see it by daylight. It's been in your eyes all the time.
Ber. I never meant it!
Gaina. Shame to you then. You'll go, sir?
Ber. Yes, yes, yes!
Gaina. Here's my lady. Now don't tell her you're going. Just go.
Ber. Just ... go.
Gaina. [At right] Ay, you've got it.
[Exit Gaina as Ardia re-enters]
Ard. My brothers are at supper. Will you join them,
Or do you fast?
Ber. I fast.
Ard. A stern religion
Is yours, my friend.
Ber. I've chosen it. Ardia,
You know me for a knight.
Ard. [Softly] Who wears no sword.
Ber. But in the English isle where I was born,
I was a monk ... and true. True am I now,
Save that my cell is what men call the world.
Ard. Spare speech and me. I know the rest.
Ber. Your prayers
Then be my bond that Christ may search my heart
And find no part not his.
Ard. No prayer of mine
Shall fetter youth to bloodless vows. And you
Look not as one faith-leeched of life. Your cheek
Is sudden gray, not changeless pale. 'Tis hued
Like rebel morning pushing back a dawn
Too eager for its peace. A monk. Our ways
Part as our souls. Know you I am to wed
Prince Banissat? So dumb?
My father comes!
[Meets Charilus re-entering and leads him to a seat]
Our guest was telling me of English days.
Now you change tongue with him and speak the tale
You promised yester night. Why does this Oswald,
This war-mad lord of England, on his way
To free the holy tomb, forget his path
And turn his army's strength against a man
No greater than thyself?
Char. Yes, you shall know.
Ard. At last!
Char. For morning parts us.
Ard. Oh! Not that!
Ber. Shall I go in, my lord?
Char. Nay, Vairdelan.
I'd have thee hear. Thou thinkest me a man
Of holy heart.
Ard. Ah, who does not?
Char. There's one
Has cause for doubt. 'Twas I who slew in rage
Earl Oswald's father.
Ard. You? These hands?
Char. These hands.
Ber. I've heard 'twas so.
Ard. You've heard?
Char. 'Tis thirty years
Since Oswald, with his father, John of Clyffe,
Marched in Red Giles' crusade. You know of that?
Ber. My grandsire captained there.
Char. I served not Christ,
At least as they, with pillage, fire and rape.
But there were some among the English youths
Who took my heart, and Oswald was my choice
Of all who camped before the holy gates.
Ard. That man!
Char. I, too, was young ... and I was wed.
Not to my Ardia's mother, but to her
Whose heart yet boldly beats in my two sons.
In her strange beauty John of Clyffe found death.
He sought her, and I slew him. When his blood
Ran at my feet, I fled,—not from the swords
Hot on my path, but from that stream of blood.
Ard. Dear, dear my father! 'Twas a world ago!
Char. I was not of the many who can kill
And laugh again, nor yet of hermit-heart.
But for myself had made a gentle god
Whom my soul served.
Ber. I know, my lord, that sweet
Idolatry, and dream what thou didst suffer
So shaken from it.
Char. Far as man knows the world
I fled the scarlet stream that followed me,
And on the skyward slope of Himalay,
Between the white of snows and blue of heaven,
Saw it no more.
Ard. [Kissing his hands] O, white, forgiven hands!
Char. There, near to God as man may come nor lose
The body's mould, I saw in solvent thought
That knows not time, a sinless star,—this earth
That shall be. Back unto my world I came,
And that my dream might live I lived my dream,
Servant to love even where the slaves of hate
Whet sword and knife.
Ard. O, true!
Ber. 'Tis sung of thee!
Char. Now am I old, but love does not deny me
One service more. To-morrow I shall go
To die at Oswald's feet——
Ber. [Eagerly] You will go down?
Ard. No, no! He shall not go! Prince Banissat
Will save him! He has promised!
Ber. [Gazing at Ardia] Banissat?
So 'twas a bargain. Thou'rt fair goods to be
On th' vender's table. [Turns to Charilus]
You choose well, my lord.
Ard. What words!
Ber. I bring a message from th' earl.
Ard. From Oswald? [Shrinking] You know him?
Ber. If any man
May know him,—but I better know his son.
Ard. The vicious Bertrand?
Ber. Vicious?
Ard. O, so foul
He shuns the day, and walks on moonless nights
Most like his soul!
Ber. You speak of Bertrand?
Ard. Ay!
More wolfish than his father,—beast whose sword
Should be his body's part as tigers wear
Their claws from birth!
Ber. A bold delusion this!
Char. She speaks untempered rumor. Slander, sir,
Is out of breath with sporting Bertrand's name,
And giveth way to winds that blow it past
Belief's last border.
Ard. Slander?
Ber. What will shake
These fancies from your heart?
Ard. A miracle.
Naught less.
Ber. Hard terms. [Turns to Charilus]
I know this Bertrand well.
If any happy merit in myself
Has won your love, bestow the same on him.
What I may share is his.
Char. Here's living hope!
Ber. He, like myself, was cloister-bred, and passed
Peaceful, uncounted days until the death
Of his three brothers, slain in one mad hour.
Earl Oswald then bethought him of the son
So early given to Christ. "I have no heir,"
He said, "but God lacks not for monks." And straight
With power and gold bought full release for Bertrand,
Save that release his soul and God might give.
Char. You make me love his story.
Ber. True to peace
Even in the camp of war, he lives withdrawn,
And so gives Rumor sweep for what she would,
While in her swollen report the earl conceals
His monkish son's true nature.
Char. I'll know this youth!
Ber. He keeps his tent by day, and steals at night
To forest glens, his armor but a cloak,
His sword a flute——
Ard. O, light from Heaven!
Ber. Sometimes
He farther goes, even far as Kidmir heights,
And at the feet of Charilus he learns
A love more true than fane and cloister taught,—
The love that made the houseless, barefoot Christ,
With open breast to all unbrothered woe,—
And now he kneels and of that gentlest love
Asks pardon.
Char. Bertrand, son of Oswald, rise.
There's no forgiving in the sinless star.
Ber. [Rising, to Ardia] And you?
Ard. Ah ... when I've breath!
Ber. What I have said,
My lord, makes way for what is yet to say.
To-day I waited by Avesta's gate
For this [taking out paper] my father's word, response to mine
Sent days ago to him. Here, sir, he says: [Reads]
"Son of my hope, your words are not more strange to me than these I write with my own hand. If Charilus will come to Suli Castle, the which my swords have taken while you sang and slept, my door shall open to him as Kidmir gates have opened unto you. By Christ, I swear the treatment that he gave my blood he shall have again from me. But if he come not down, then shall I reach him through Avesta's heart, and the love he now spurns will be cold in my sword. Despatch this, I pray you, for I would hasten to Jerusalem, leaving you my conquered princedom, whose head is Ilon and whose foot is the city of Ramoor. Thine as thy heart speaks, Oswald."
Char. Your father's hand?
Ber. Doubt flies from it, although
The vein is alien, sir. It is his hand.
And, I do think, his heart, wherein, my lord,
Your gentleness to me, like creeping rain,
Has moistened love's dry root, whose pent-up bloom
Is by that nurture freed, and magical
Now glows before us.
Char. This I would believe. [Starts off right]
Vigard and Biondel must have this news
From my slow lips, lest with the sudden truth
They strike ablaze. They have their mother's fire.
Albanian Gartha was not one to die
And leave her sons no part in her wild race. [Exit]
Ber. You are not Gartha's daughter?
Ard. No, my lord.
Claris of Corinth bore me, and my flame
Is joy, not anger. O, this miracle
You've wrought for me!
Ber. I wrought?
Ard. 'Tis no less strange
When God through his bare tool reveals his hand,
Than when invisible his power stirs
And makes a chasm in sense. So when you stood
Before me, Bertrand's self, with yet the voice,
The eyes, the heart of Vairdelan, I knew
That was my miracle. O Heaven-sign
At which my world grew blithe and shook May-boughs
With birds in every branch!
Ber. You've no more fear
For Charilus?
Ard. None, none.
Nor for myself.
Ber. Yourself?
Ard. O, seems no soul need trouble now
In this vast world!
[Re-enter Charilus and sons]
Bion. You are not Vairdelan?
Vig. You're Bertrand, Oswald's son?
Ber. 'Tis true.
Vig. That truth
Should cut your throat, and I could lend my sword
For such a matter.
Bion. Come! What knightly plea
Coats this deceit with honor?
Ber. None, my lord.
If I've made trespass deeper than your love
Will bear me out, my hope is in your pardon.
Bion. A lie made you our guest, and guest you are
Until we meet on Suli plain.
Char. My son!
Ard. Call you that pardon, Biondel?
Bion. I speak
No pardon.
Ard. But you shall—you must. O, say it!
You know our father goes to Oswald.
Vig. Know
That fools and women talk! The gates are sealed.
Bion. I'll guard the pass against my father's self
If so much rudeness may make stand between
His death and life.
Char. My sons, I thank your love,
But I go down. The guards, the gates are mine,
And to my will they open.
Vig. 'Tis that girl,
That silvery Greek——
Char. If your quick blood must stir,
Let manners grace it.
Ard. O, my dearest brothers,
Do you not love me?
Bion. Better than you know.
We love you, serve you, though yourself obstruct
The way to safety.
Vig. You would trust the man
Who wrapped him in a lie to enter here?
Sat at our father's board and brake his bread
To feed an enemy?
Ber. The bread I brake
Fed friendship's heart in me, and made this roof
A temple. Do you not know me, Vigard?
Vig. Nay,
I knew a Vairdelan—you are not he.
Bion. If Oswald means no harm to Charilus,
Let him pass on. Jerusalem awaits
His savage sword.
Char. My son, that Oswald thus
Compels me to him is to me but proof
That hearts may greet above long years of hate.
In this I see Love beckoning Man across
The wastrel lands of war to fields unwet
With blood, to days——
Vig. Unhearted cowards then!
Praise Allah, we yet live where rapiers thresh
The fields of men and leave the bravest standing!
Is 't not the Prophet's word that Paradise
Lies 'neath the shade of swords?
Char. Allah be yours!
But I would walk beneath unrisen stars,
Beyond hate's eyeless clouds——
Bion. O, spare us, sir!
Each day brings its own sun, and by that light,
No other, men must walk. If this our time
Be dark to you, 'tis in your vision, not
In the lit heavens, from whose shoreless depth
No hook of prayer or prophecy may draw
One star before its hour. Pray you be done
With this moon madness. Banissat will meet
The force of Oswald. With the morn he comes
To seal his troth with Ardia——
Char. By no word
Of mine. If you have given him pledge, your honor
Shall dip to dust and drudge your forfeit out,
Ere virgin bondage pay it. Hark, Biondel,
And hear me, Vigard! I alone shall meet
Earl Oswald. If the blood I shed yet cries
For blood, here are the veins shall make it dumb.
Bion. But, sir,——
Char. No more. Your sister stays with you.
Regard her will, nor ope these doors unbidden
To Banissat.
Ard. I stay? O, never think
I shall not go with thee!
Char. You go?
Ard. I'm safe
With thee, my father. Here....
Vig. Here you have brothers!
Ard. I mean no slight upon you, but my fate
Keeps with my father.
Char. I should doubt the God
Who bids me go if I denied you this.
Thyself art Peace, and where thou goest moves
Her radiance. Make you ready. And good-night, all!
Sir Bertrand, know the sleep that fits the heart
For journeying. [Exit right, rear]
Vig. [To Ardia] There's one will stop your way—
Prince Banissat!
Bion. We'll send him word this hour,
For while the edge be on his sudden love
He'll thank us to be swift.
Ber. You loved me once,
My lords.
Bion. True, son of Oswald.
Ber. Though you used
Some bitter words, I know your inmost heart
Holds me a man undoubted. There I'm stamped
In honor's verity; and when I vow,
By my soul's faith, that Charilus is safe,
You know 'tis truth.
Bion. Be you our father's hostage,
If this mad thing must be. Stay you with us,
And we are silent.
Ard. Stay? You ask too much.
Vig. No fear, soft sister. Mark him. We're refused.
He'll stuff the air with words, not clear it with
One pinch of proof.
Ber. My lords, were I to stay,
'Twould make an act of faith lose point and purpose,
And blazon doubt before my father's face.
Vig. You mark?
Ber. 'Twould louder cry of war; uproot
Love's seedling in its tenderest hour, and make
Once more the bane and night-weed spring. But hear
An oath of mine. If Charilus meet harm
In Oswald's camp, I shall return and ask
The same stroke from your hands.
Ard. O, do not swear!
Ber. By every hope I have to enter Heaven,
By the right hand of God, by this white cross
That knew my mother's last, death-holy kiss,
By every sacred thing I know and love,
If Charilus comes up these heights no more,
Here shall I lay my life beneath your sword.
[Barca re-enters right]
Barca. [To Bertrand] The master asks a word with you, my lord.
[Exit Bertrand with Barca]
Ard. Will you accept his oath?
Vig. Go to your room.
Bion. We'll talk alone.
Ard. Nay, hear me first. You think
To force me to the arms of Banissat.
Give over that wild thought.
Bion. 'Twas not so wild
An hour ago.
Ard. Fate lifts the hand that laid
Compulsion on me. I am free. O, free!
No strait of life or death can make me less
Than mistress of myself.
Bion. Our destiny
Is bound with Banissat. Make him our foe,
And where shall we find peace? Not on these peaks.
Ard. Is he our jailer then? This Banissat?
Our prison his good favor? Nay, the world
Has many roads, and courage even yet
May blaze a new one.
Bion. Rooted life is best.
I am not one to make my bed on winds,
Or stroll the earth for fortune's grudgèd scraps
Snatched from a rapier's point.
Ard. Know this. My hand
Shall never lie in Banissat's. Give up
A hope so barren. There's better pasturage
For wits so bold as yours. Now Oswald holds
The breadth of Suli plain, the heights of Tor,
Winged by the sea from Ilon to Ramoor—
A principality whose circuit leaves
Avesta as a fly pinned to a wall.
Vig. What's Oswald's fief to us? We are no sons of his.
Ard. Lord Bertrand holds the princedom here
While Oswald goes to wars in Palestine.
Bion. He told you this?
Ard. Did you not read as much
In Oswald's letter? There 'twas plainly said.
Bion. Still is our surest hope with Banissat.
Ard. When Bertram! is your friend? O, more than friend!
A brother!
Bion. Ah ... do you say "brother"?
Ard. True
As though he had been born our father's son!
Bion. [To Vigard] You hear?
Vig. With more than ears.
Bion. We have been blind.
Vig. A brother!
Bion. All is clear enough, now that
We've eyes for it. Your pardon, sister.
Ard. Pardon?
Bion. Pray you! We thought your scorn of Banissat
Marked you of creeping spirit, when your aim
Shot o'er our lowered eyes.
Vig. Ay, she has sped
Before our boldest care of her, and left
Our duty lurching.
Ard. These are drunken words.
Vig. If you would wed Lord Bertrand,——
Ard. O, you think....
Bion. Your hope has shown its wing. Best bid it fly.
Vig. Speak without fear. This changes all.
Ard. You mean
You'll not delay us? You will let us go?
Vig. And speed you too! High stroke, this anxious hour
To journey in his care!
Bion. Yet shielded by
Our father's dignity.
Ard. How you mistake!
He does not woo me!
Vig. Now the modest foot!
But we have seen the other. Trust us, sister.
Bion. Mistake? I now recall his looks, his sighs,
As from a love immured,—his songs, too warm
For piety's cool breath,—and more that tends
To happy proof.
Vig. How dare he woo thee when
Mere Vairdelan? This blade had stood between!
Bion. Such beggar suit would then have cheapened thee
Beneath a prince's wearing. [Leading her to door, right]
No drooping now!
The way lies clear.
Ard. O, brother——
Bion. Get you in.
Ard. Will you not listen?
Bion. Leave your hope with us,
Your secret is our own. [Closes door upon her]
Vig. Here's change of sky.
You trust Lord Bertrand?
Bion. That is now our course.
Our father will go down.
Vig. What's in your heart?
I'll open mine.
Bion. I beg you do.
Vig. Ramoor
And Ilon now are crownless. Suli's prince
Must have new governors.
Bion. But Christian ones.
That bars our way.
Vig. The Prophet's cloak fits well
With any fortune.
Bion. Ah....
Vig. We've but to change
The color, not the cut.
Bion. [Listening] He comes!
Vig. We'll speak.
Bion. Not yet, my Vigard. Let this fruiting hope
Swell to a golden fall. Wait with the sun.
No green and forward plucking.
[Re-enter Ardia]
Ard. Hear me, brothers——
Bion. Not now. The prince!
[Re-enter Bertrand, right]
Ber. I pray your answer, friends.
Let us go down unhindered, and my oath
I leave with you, a hostage sure as though
With iron bonds you held my breathing form:
For in that oath I leave no treasure less
Than honor, knighthood, and what in me moves
Deathless to God.
Bion. It is enough. Our guest
Is free.
Ber. Once more my brothers!
Bion. Know us ever
By that dear name.
Vig. And this deep oath you take
For Charilus' sake, is sworn too for our sister?
Ber. For Ardia? No, my lord.
Vig. Do you say no?
Ber. I must so answer you. For the fell harm
That touches her would of myself make end.
My honor so impeached would cease to breathe
The air itself made foul. I could not come
Having no life to bring me.
Bion. We believe you.
Go with our father. Take our sister too.
And we upon these heights shall pray, as you
On Suli plain, that Charilus may see
His sons again.
Ber. Come, let him know! This wished
Obedience will give him sleep.
[Exeunt Bertrand, Vigard, and Biondel, right rear]
Ard. Is 't best
That Truth be dumb? I'll watch this weaving Fate,
And feed her web with silence.... Oh, with hope!
[Curtain]
ACT II
Scene 1. A hall in the castle of Suli. Heavy doors open left, half-way up. Large window with iron grating, rear. Couches, chairs, scattered. Tables from which servants are removing the remnants of a feast. They are quarrelling, chaffing, singing, as the curtain risen.
First Ser. Shifty, there!
Second Ser. What, can't a soldier eat?
First Ser. You a soldier, lickspoon?
Second Ser. I've drawn a sword, sir!
First Ser. Ay, and cut a cheese.
Third Ser. [Lifting flask] Here's to——
Fourth Ser. [Seizing flask] No man shall guzzle my master's wine before me. [Drains vessel]
Third Ser. [Sadly, turning up empty flask] Not after you, either.
Fifth Ser. Well, well, and two moons back we were saying grace over ditch-water!
Sixth Ser. Ay, we were good Christians then. A full stomach makes lean prayers. Now we've such a plenty we can spare the devil a fillip, and never a grace for it.
First Ser. [Tugging at table] Take a leg there! This is no grasshopper. [Others help him move table to wall, right] Look about you! The maskers will be in here.
Second Ser. Here? They'll be everywhere to-night. Such a jig-making over the new prince!
Second Ser. Not a corner to drop into and sleep off a good supper with a clear conscience!
Sixth Ser. Sleep? What have we to do with sleep? We fight, we eat, we dance. That's my soldier!
Second Ser. We kill, we cut, we caper! [Sings]
The soldier rides on Fortune's wheel,
All. Round we go,
Round we go!
Second Ser. Now up the head and now the heel,
All. Round we go,
Round——
[Enter seventh servant]
Seventh Ser. Quiet, you devils! The master's coming.
Second Ser. What, can't a soldier sing? Haven't we fought like true men? When did we give quarter? When did we show mercy? And now can't we be happy? Can't we take breath?
Seventh Ser. Sh! and I'll tell you what I've seen. I've seen the daughter of Old Wisdom.
Sixth Ser. He get a daughter!
Seventh Ser. The maid of Kidmir. Ardia of the Stars they call her, but if the sun could shine in the middle of a dark night she would be like that.
First Ser. Foh, the Lady Berenice will put out her candle.
Seventh Ser. The Lady Berenice is as like her as the back of my hand to Juno's cheek!
First Ser. A heathen comparison! There's a Christian blow for it!
[They scuffle. Enter Oswald in talk with Bertrand. Servants finish their work quietly and go out]
Osw. My heart is whole again, now you've escaped
The claws of Kidmir.
Ber. Say the arms that closed
Like God's around me!
Osw. Fox, and lion too.
That's Charilus. I knew him young,—when blood
Tells nature's truth,—ere he had sucked
Philosophy's pale milk and made his truce
With prudence and long life. The heart then his
He carries now——
Ber. Then, sir, you must have known
The Maker's marvel,—youth that outstripped age
And grayest saints in virtue.
Osw. Tut! No matter.
You're safe. And he is here ... within these walls.
Ber. A guest of faith who holds your honor bound
High hostage for his life.
Osw. My honor? Trust me!
I'll care for that. No more I'll blush to lift
My shield i' the sun. The spot of thirty years
Shall be wiped out.
Ber. With love, my father?
Osw. [After a pause] Ay,
'Tis love shall do it.
Ber. [Lifting his father's hand to his lips]
You bind my heart to you.
Osw. Too soft, my warrior. Keep such woman's play
For Berenice. She will thank you for it.
I'm rough and old, and need the soldier clap
To start the singing blood. [Clapping Bertrand]
A blow with good
Red heart in 't!
Ber. Berenice?
Osw. Ah, that takes you!
She's here at last. Prince Frederick arrived
Three days ago, and with him his fair daughter,
Too dear of value to be left behind,
The prey of quarrelling kings. You'll dance with her
To-night.
Ber. You'll pardon me. I shall not dance.
Osw. Faugh, there's the monk again! Why, boy, we'll pray
The better for a little tripping,—fight
The better too. One dance with Berenice!
A beauty, sir, who makes me hate the years
That lie 'tween youth and me. She was to wed
A son of mine by vow above her cradle,
And I have buried every son save you.
Ber. May I not keep one vow?
Osw. The pope long since
Released you. Now——
Ber. My compact was with Christ.
Osw. Why cling to one when all the rest are broken?
Ber. It is the one lies wholly in my choice.
Osw. You left your cell.
Ber. Do you forget 'twas you
Who shook to ground my cloister walls, and locked
All holy doors against me?
Osw. True, I did it.
And with good warrant. Broadest Christendom
Upheld my right and gave me back my heir.
Small gain if you refuse to wed. My need
Is not for sons but grandsons now. My boy,
You'll let me see your children at my knee?
Ho, hide your face? Then there's a heart in you.
Why should I toil through blood and groans and fire
To make a name my shroud will wrap with me?
Ber. Toil then to give this land to God, and live
So long as love shall live in men.
Osw. Pale fame!
Have you no blood of mine? How could my fire
Father this sluggish monk? There was a maid
On Kidmir, Charilus' daughter, who has come
In wag of him, which speaks a fearless wench,—
She taught you nothing in those moons you passed
Upon her peaks?
Ber. Sir?
Osw. When I saw her face
Flash from her veil, I could have sworn
Your vow was drowned in her lake-eyes, and that
Her captured softness had made easy way
For royal Berenice. Now you talk
Out of your cowl——
Ber. Not so! I am a knight!
Your words have made me one! Now could I draw
This sword that knows not blood——
Osw. I'll bout with thee
For any woman. Come! Thou'lt be a man
Ere long. Come, sir!
Ber. You've set a foot most foul
Upon the flower of time!
Osw. It seems I've hit
The mark i' the very eye.
Ber. The whitest thought
That holds her first must shrive itself!
Osw. So, so!
Come, end the song. She's yours. 'Tis not the moon
You cry for, take an old man's word.
Ber. The moon
Were nearer to me!
Osw. Trrr-rrr-rr!
Ber. My lord?
Osw. A woman. Ask and have. I'll send her here.
This is the hour to bait you, and I'd not lose it
For half of Suli.
Ber. Stay! I will not see her.
I dare not look upon her lest I lose
Christ and myself.
Osw. Are you so tuned? We'll have
A wedding yet.
Ber. Forget that word, and I
Forgive you for it.
Osw. A wedding, prince of Suli.
This plain shall ring to Antioch.
Ber. Nay, father,—
And yet I thank you that your heart would make
So fair a maid my bride.
Osw. Fair? That's no word.
She's glory's darling pearl,—the morning's eye
That makes the night forgot! When you have seen her——
Ber. When I have seen her?
Osw. Ay,——
Ber. Do you not speak
Of Ardia?
Osw. Ardia! Gods! Wed Kidmir's trull?
Make me a doting grandsire to the heir
Of Charilus? Hear it, stars! Am I the fool
O' the earth? Give up my English forests, bare
My purse for troops, and foot by foot fight way
To Suli sands,—all this that I may set
A droning dotard's line upon a throne,
And be the ass of chronicle? O, poison!
Well, well, I'm done. The girl is fair enough.
And you shall have her if she pleases you.
But Berenice—there's your bride, my boy!
Ber. Wed Berenice? With that name you save me.
By that I see the darkness coiling deep
Along my bridal way. 'Twas Ardia's name
That lit the path till I dared let my eyes,
Though not my will, go venturing on 't.
Osw. My son,——
Ber. Never again, my father, speak to me
In this night's strain. Till morning I shall pray.
And then I fast. Good-night.
Osw. One moment. One!
The sunrise feast? Will you not be with us?
I drink with Charilus the cup of peace.
Ber. And love that breaks no peace?
Osw. [Assenting] See how you bend me?
All that you ask I give, but you to me
Yield nothing.
Ber. Sir, this sword, my knightly suit,
And princely title, make denial for me.
Osw. Your pardon. I forget you count it much
To give a crust and cell for this broad kingdom.
I who have paid my heart out for a crown
Must thank you now to wear it.
Ber. Good-night.
Osw. O, son,
Have you no patience with a man grown old
In many battles? Now feel I my age,
Knowing the dearest blows of my long life
Have bought me but this shadow. In you is drained
Ambition's heart,—my every burning aim
Fails here in you, and cools unforged, unshapen.
Yet do you turn from me as though 'twere I
Not you who gave the wound that parts us.
Ber. I?
Osw. Of all my sons I loved you best. You think
I gave you to the friars with no twinge
Here at my heart? Your mother said "One son
We must return to God," and I said "Yea,
So it be not my Bertrand." But her will
Ran 'gainst me. When she had her way, I longed
Through many a day to have you at my side,
While you were happy with your songs and saints,
Your father quite forgot.
Ber. [Stirred] Nay, not forgot.
And I am with you now.
Osw. O, let me feel
My son is mine! I'll yield you anything.
Ay, even Ardia! She shall be my daughter——
Ber. By heaven that keeps me true, I will not hear
That name again! There's maddest music in it.
I see her when I hear it. [Covering his eyes]
Osw. [Aside] I see the lime
Will catch you.
Ber. Again, good-night.
Osw. One favor, son.
And slight too, by 'r lady!
Ber. Speak it, sir.
Osw. I gave my word you'd wait on Berenice.
I' faith, I know not what excuse to make
To Frederick. 'Tis barest courtesy
To give her greeting.
Ber. I will welcome her,
Our guest.
Osw. Enough! [Going] You'll wait us here?
Ber. I'll wait.
[Exit Oswald. Bertrand sits with head bowed and does not heed maskers who enter and dance about him. They cover him with their garlands as they go off. A song is heard within]