PERSONS.

OLAF.
TERESA, HIS WIFE.
PAOLO, THEIR CHILD.
ACHZIB, AS A NORTHERN HUNTER.
HULDA, AN OLD WOMAN.

SCENE I.

A little chapel in a gloomy northern forest—Teresa on her knees before the image of the Virgin.

Ter. Thou, that didst bear a pain that had no healing—
An undivided misery,
Which unto kindred heart knew no appealing,
O, hear thou me!
I tell thee not mine own peculiar woe;
I tell thee not the want that makes me poor,
For thou, dear Mother of God, all this dost know!—
But I beseech thy blessing, and thy aid;
Assure me, where my nature is afraid,
And where I murmur, strengthen to endure!

[She bows her head, kneeling in silence—as she prepares to leave the chapel, enter PAOLO, with a few snow-drops in his hand.

Paol. Mother, in Italy I used to gather
Sweet flowers; the fragrant lily, like a cup
Chiselled in marble, and the rich, red rose,
And carry them, an offering to Our Lady;
Think’st thou she will accept such gifts as these,
For they are not like flowers of Italy—
But they are such, dear mother, as grow here?
Ter. My boy, she will accept them! Gracious Virgin,
She would receive a poorer gift than this;
She would accept the will without the gift,
For she doth know the heart! There on the shrine
Lay them, my boy, and pray if thou have need;
Fear not, for she is gracious,—so is God!
Paol. [laying the flowers at the feet of the Virgin.
I have no prayer, dear mother, save for thee,
And that is in my heart. I cannot speak it,
Thou didst weep so, when last I prayed for thee!
Ter. [kissing him.] It is enough, my boy, the Holy Mother
Knoweth what is within thy inmost heart!

[She again bows herself before the Virgin, then taking the child’s hand, goes out.

SCENE II.

Night—the same forest; the pine trees are old and splintered, and covered with snow; it is a scene of desolation—at a little distance a small house is seen through an opening of the wood.

Enter ACHZIB, as a northern hunter.

Hun. And this is their abode! A mighty change,
From a proud palace on the Arno’s side,
To a poor cabin in a northern wild!
Let me retrace the history of this pair:—
He was Count Spazzi—young and rich, and proud,
Ambitious and determined. Fortune brought
Unto his knowledge fair Teresa Cogni,
The daughter of an exiled chief of Corinth;
Beautiful as her own land, and pure
As her own cloudless heavens. It is a tale
So long, so full of sorrow and of guile,
Of heart-ache and remorseless tyranny,
That now I may not stop to trace it out.
But she was forced to marry that stern man,
After her father’s death had given her
Into his power.—Enough, it was a marriage
Where joy was not; but where the tyrant smiled
Because his pride and will were gratified.
Next followed lawless years of heedless crime;
To those, the desperate strife between us two,
Wherein I made the vow which I have kept,
How, it now matters not. I watched him fall,
Impelled by my fierce hate, until at length
I saw him banished from his native land.
Meantime that gentle partner of his fall,
Bore, with a patience which was not of earth,
All evils of their cruel destiny.
But she was now a mother—and for him,
That docile boy, whose spirit was like hers,
Ever-enduring and so full of kindness,
What mother would not bear all misery
And yet repine not, blessed in the love
Of that confiding spirit! Thus it was.
And they three went forth, exiles from their land:
One with the curse of his own crimes upon him;
Two innocent as doves, and only cursed
In that their lives and fortunes were bound up
With that bad man’s.
He is a hunter now;
And his precarious living earns with toil
And danger, amid natures like his own:
And here I might have left him to live out
The term of his existence, had I not
Seen how the silent virtues of the wife,
And the clear, innocent spirit of the boy,
Have gained ascendance o’er him; and besides,
Sure as I am of Spazzi, ’tis for her,
My seventh victim, that I tread these wilds;
For will she not curse God, if from her sight
Is ta’en that precious child, and hate her husband,
By whom it shall appear the deed is done?
She will, she will—I know this mother’s heart!
And on the morrow, as a skilful hunter,
I shall present myself before her husband,
No more Count Spazzi, but the hunter Olaf.

[He goes farther into the forest.

SCENE III.

The following morning—the interior of the house in the forest—Teresa sitting near the fire—Paolo kneeling upon a footstool at her side.

Paol. And now, dear mother, tell me that old tale,
About the little boy who prayed that Jesus
Might come and play with him.
Ter. I will, my love.

[She sings in a low recitative.

[1]Among green, pleasant meadows,
All in a grove so wild,
Was set a marble image
Of the Virgin and the Child.
[1] A free translation of one of Herder’s beautiful legends.
There oft, on summer evenings,
A lonely boy would rove,
To play beside the image
That sanctified the grove.
Oft sate his mother by him,
Among the shadows dim,
And told how the Lord Jesus
Was once a child, like him.
“And now from highest heaven
He doth look down each day,
And sees what’er thou doest,
And hears what thou dost say!”
Thus spoke his tender mother:
And on an evening bright,
When the red, round sun descended
’Mid clouds of crimson light,
Again the boy was playing,
And earnestly said he,
“Oh beautiful child Jesus,
Come down and play with me!
“I will find thee flowers the fairest,
And weave for thee a crown;
I will get the ripe, red strawberries,
If thou wilt but come down!
“Oh Holy, Holy Mother,
Put him down from off thy knee;
For in these silent meadows
There are none to play with me!”
Thus spoke the boy so lonely,
The while his mother heard,
But on his prayer she pondered,
And spoke to him no word.
That self-same night she dreamed
A lovely dream of joy;
She thought she saw young Jesus
There, playing with the boy.
“And for the fruits and flowers
Which thou hast brought to me,
Rich blessings shall be given
A thousand-fold to thee.
“For in the fields of heaven
Thou shalt roam with me at will,
And of bright fruits, celestial,
Shall have, dear child, thy fill!”
Thus tenderly and kindly
The fair child Jesus spoke;
And full of careful musings,
The anxious mother woke.
And thus it was accomplished
In a short month and a day,
The lonely boy, so gentle,
Upon his death-bed lay.
And thus he spoke in dying:
“Oh mother dear, I see
That beautiful child Jesus
A-coming down to me!
“And in his hand he beareth
Bright flowers as white as snow,
And red and juicy strawberries,—
Dear mother, let me go?”
He died—but that fond mother
Her sorrow did restrain,
For she knew he was with Jesus,
And she asked him not again!
Paol. I wish that I had been that boy, dear mother!
Ter. How so, my, Paolo, did not that boy die,
And leave his mother childless?
Paol. Ah, alas,
I had forgotten that! But, mother dear,
Thou couldst not be so wretched, wanting me,
As I, if thou wert not! It breaks my heart
Only to think of it; and I do pray,
Morning and night, that I may never lose thee!
Ter. My precious child, heaven is so very good,
I do believe it will not sunder us
Who are so dear, so needful to each other!
Paol. Let us not speak of parting! and, indeed,
I will not be a hunter when a man;
I will not leave thee early in a morning,
And keep away from thee for days and days!
I do not love the chase, it frightens me;
The horrid bark of wolves fills me with dread.
I dream of them at night!
Ter. Thou shalt not, love!
And yet, what couldst thou be, if not a hunter,
In these wild regions, Paolo!
Paol. Oh no, mother,
I will be not a hunter! They are fierce,
They have loud angry voices. Dearest mother
I tremble when I hear my father speak;
I wish he was as kind, and spoke as sweetly
As thou dost.
Ter. Hush, my Paolo—say not thus—
Thy father is a bold and skilful hunter,—
A very skilful hunter.
Paol. Yes I know it;
I’ve often heard it said. But tell me why
Men are so stern! If I am e’er a man,
I will be kind and gentle; and the dogs
Shall not start up whene’er they hear my step,
And skulk away from the warm, pleasant hearth.
I will love all things, mother; I will make
All things love me!
Ter. My dearest, gentle boy,
I do believe thou wilt!
Paol. Mother, hast heard
My father goes unto the chase to-day,
And that strange hunter with him!
Ter. Nay, my love,
In this wild storm they will not go to hunt.
Paol. I saw them even now. The sledge is ready,
With the horse harnessed to’t; and, mother dear,
We shall have such a long and quiet day,—
’Twill be so happy! And oh, wilt thou tell me
About thy home at Corinth, and the time
When from the morning to the blessed eve
Thou sangest to the music of thy lute;
Or wander’dst out with kind and merry friends;
Or tendedst thy sweet flowers;—and tell me too
About the bright, blue, restless sea at Corinth—
And sing me songs and hymns in thy Greek tongue,
And hear how I can sing them after thee—
Wilt thou, dear mother?
Ter. I will indeed, my love!
But hark! thy birds are chirping for their meal,
Go, feed them, my sweet boy.
Paol. Yes, I will feed them,
And then there will be nothing all the day
To take me from thy side!

[He goes out.

Ter. Thou dear, dear child!
Thou happy, innocent spirit! ’Tis o’er payment,
A rich o’er payment of my many woes,
To see thee gather up such full enjoyment
Within the narrowed limits of the good
Which thy hard fortune gives thee! And no more
Let me account myself forlorn and stripped,
Whilst I have thee, my boy!
But hark! here comes
My husband!

Enter OLAF, muffled in his hunting dress.

Olaf. Where’s the boy! I hunt to-day.
Ter. Not in this storm, my husband!
Olaf. In this storm.
Where is the boy? I heard him here, just now.
Ter. Why, why the boy? What dost thou want with him?
Olaf. He shall go out with me on this day’s hunt.
Ter. Oh no! not so—he must not go to-day!
Olaf. Why, ’tis a puny, feeble-hearted thing,
Whom thou hast fondled with and fooled, till nought
Of a boy’s spirit is within his heart!
But he shall go with me, and learn to dare
The perils of the forest.
Ter. But this once—
This once, my husband, spare him—and when next
Thou goest to the hunt, he shall go with thee!
Olaf. This day he shall go with me! Thou wouldst teach
The boy rebellion! He shall go with me!
Ter. Nay, say not so—he does not love the chase!
Olaf. ’Tis me he does not love—and for good reason,—
Thou ever keep’st him sitting at thy side,
A caded, dwindled thing that has no spirit!
Look at the other children of the forest;
They are brave, manly boys!
Ter. Alas, my husband,
Thou hast forgotten, ’tis a tender flower
Transplanted to a cold, ungenial clime.
Olaf. Say not another word! Thou hear’st my will!

Enter PAOLO; he runs to his mother’s side.

Ter. Thy father wishes thee to hunt to-day.
Paol. Oh, not to-day, dear mother!
Olaf. And why not?
It ever is the cry, “Oh not to-day!”
I pr’ythee what new fancy’s in thy head,
That thou canst not go with me?
Paol. I besought
My mother to sing me her Corinth songs;
To tell me of the groves and of the flowers,
And of that happy home that was more fair
Than even was ours, in pleasant Italy;
And she has promised that she will, my father.
Olaf. Ha! ha! is’t so?—’Tis even as I thought.
I know wherefore these stories of the past!
Mark me, Teresa, if thou school him thus,
I’ll sunder ye!—Thou need’st not clasp thy hands;
For on my life I’ll do it!
Paol. [weeping.] Father, father,
Part me not from my mother, and indeed
I will go with you.
Ter. [aside to Olaf.] Pray thee, speak him kindly!
Olaf. Come, I’ll be thy companion! I will teach thee
To be a man;—dry up these childish tears!
Ter. My sweet boy, do not weep! Go out this day,
Thy mother prays it of thee, and bring back
A little ermine, we will make it tame;
It shall be thine, my Paolo, and shall love thee.
Paol. I will go, dearest mother—nor will cry
Though the gaunt, hungry wolves bark round about,
[aside.] But, mother dear, will you sit by my side
When we come back, and sing me fast asleep?
I have such horrid dreams of wolves at night.
Ter. I will, indeed I will, my dearest love!
Olaf. Come, come, why all this fondling? We’ll be back
Long ere the night.
Ter. Come, now I’ll put thee on
Thy cloak, and that warm cap of ermine skin
I made for thee last winter! [They go out.
Olaf. How she sways him!
With a sweet word she guides him as she will!
Would that the child loved me but half as well;
Heaven help me! but I am a rough, bad man,
And have deserved neither her love nor his!
But now the sledge is ready.

He goes out.

SCENE IV.

Near sunset—a dreary, desolate region, surrounded with ice-mountains—the Hunter drives a sledge rapidly forward, in the back part of which sit Olaf and Paolo.

Olaf. Where is this wild? I know not where thou drivest!
Hunter. Below our feet lies the eternal ice
Of the great sea!
Olaf. Our prey abides not here!
Hunt. We’ll find enough, anon!
Olaf. Thou dost not know
The track on which thou go’st.—Here only dwells
The gaunt and savage wolf! and hark—even now
I hear their bark!
Paol. Oh, are there wolves a-nigh?
Hunt. Ay, they are nigh, look in that black abysm,
It is a wild wolf’s den!
Olaf. Thou braggart hunter,
Is this thy wondrous skill? Wheel round the sledge
Before the horse is maddened with the cry!
There is no time to lose! Pull in the beast!
Hunt. It will not do—the wolves are now upon us!
Paol. Oh father, save me! save me, dearest father!
Olaf. Let go my cloak—they shall not hurt thee, child!
[to the hunter.] Thou cursed man!—Dost see these savage beasts,
And yet sit grinning there, as thou had’st done
A piece of hunter-craft!
Hunt. You carry arms—
Cannot you fire upon them? They will gorge
Upon each other, and be pacified!
Olaf. If they taste blood, they will be more ferocious—
And thou knowest well, we have not ammunition
For such a strife! yet will I fire upon them,
Their savage barking will bring others down.

[He fires.

Paol. Oh horrid! how they tear each other’s flesh.
Olaf. Now hurry forward, for our only hope
Lies in out-speeding them!
Paol. Let us go home!
Olaf. Again they are upon us—their gaunt jaws
Dropping with blood, which they lick evermore!
Now for another slaughter!
Hunt. ’Tis in vain,
For right and left, yet other packs are coming!
Paol. Oh father, father, they will be upon us!
And I shall never see my mother more!
Hunt. Peace, brawling child!
Olaf. My poor, dear boy, be still.
Paol. I will, I will, dear father!
Olaf. [To the hunter.] Cursed murderer.
His blood will be upon thy head!
Hunt. Indeed!
Who forced him from his mother ’gainst his will?
Olaf. Most strange, inhuman wretch!
Hunt. Nay, use thy gun,
’Twill do thee better service than thy tongue!
Olaf. [aside.] Please heaven I live, I’ll pay thee for this hunt,
Wages thou didst not ask!

[He puts his last charge into his piece.

This is the last—
When this is done, there is no other hope
But in our flight! He fires.
Now heaven must be our helper!
On, on, spare not the thong!

[The horse in dashing forward, breaks from the sledge; the wolves fall upon him instantly.

Olaf. Now must we fly!
Hunt. There is a hut among these icy deserts
Raised by some hunters. While they gorge themselves
We may escape.
Paol. Take, take my hand, dear father!
Olaf. How cold it is, poor boy!

[They turn among the ice-mountains, and soon are out of sight.

SCENE V.

A chaotic wilderness of icebergs.

Enter the HUNTER, and OLAF carrying PAOLO, who appears faint.

Hunt. I hear their bark—we are not much ahead!
Olaf. How far is’t now unto the hunter’s cabin?
Hunt. A half hour it would take us, could we run
At our best speed—but cumbered with the child,
What can we do?
Paol. Dear father, I will run—
I will not cumber thee—I am strong now!
Olaf. My poor dear boy, thou canst not! would to heaven
Thou wert at home!
Paol. How kind thou art, dear father!
I will run on—I will not cumber thee!
Hunt. The wolves are here! Hark, hark! their barking comes
Upon the passing wind!
Paol. Oh, they are here!
Olaf. How can we ’scape from them? I’ll sell my life
Dearly for this child’s sake!
Hunt. Throw them the child!
And while they gorge on him, we can escape.
Olaf. Thou devil of hell!
Paol. Sweet father, do it not!

[The wolves surround them; and the hunter snatching up Paolo throws him among them.

Paol. Oh father, father, save me!
Olaf. My boy! my boy!
Hunt. It is too late—they tear him limb from limb!
Now for escape! Run, run, and we shall reach
A place of safety! [He darts forward.
Olaf. God in heaven! my boy—
My gentle-hearted boy! my murdered boy!

[He dashes among the wolves with his hunting knife, and then springs forward after the hunter.

SCENE VI.

Night—the interior of Olaf’s house—Teresa alone—a bright fire burns on the hearth—refreshments are set out, and clothes hanging by the fire for Olaf and Paolo.

Teresa. How late it is! an hour beyond the midnight!
And bitter cold it is! The icy wind
Even pierces through these walls! Poor little Paolo,
How weary and half-frozen he will be:
But he shall sit upon the bench beside me,
And I will hold his hands, and lay his head
Upon my knee; it is his dear indulgence—
Poor child, and he shall have it all to-night!

[She puts fresh logs on the fire.

And this is the third time I have renewed
The wasting fire! and when I piled at first,
“My Paolo will be here,” I said, “before
These logs shall have burned through!” but, now alas,
I know not what to say, saving the wonder
That he comes not, and even this is grown
A kind of vague despair, that seems to threaten
He will not come at all! Oh, if aught happen
Save good unto the child, like poor old Jacob,
Then should I be bereaved!

Enter HULDA, with a very dejected countenance; she takes down PAOLO’S clothes, and folds them up.

Ter. Nay, how is this?
Huld. He will not need them more?
Ter. Woman, what say’st thou?
Huld. Two hunters from the icebergs are come down—
Ere long thy husband comes.
Ter. And not my boy?
Hulda. [laying the clothes together.] He will not need these more!
Ter. Then he is dead!
Huld. Alas, dear lady, yes!
Ter. Peace, woman! peace!
The earth were less forlorn without the sun,
Than I without my boy! He is not dead!
Huld. Would God he were not!
Ter. Do not say he is!
It is like blasphemy to say he’s dead.
Heaven would not strip me so—O do not say it!
Where are these men? I’ll forth and meet my boy!
Huld. [stopping her.] He is not on the road! No, never more
Will he repass this threshold!
Ter. ’Tis a dream!
Huld. Dear lady, no!—too plainly tell the hunters
All that has happened!
Ter. And, pr’ythee, what has happened?
Huld. A quarrel ’twixt the hunter and our master,
Who now comes wounded home.
Ter. And what of Paolo?
Huld. Oh heavy, heavy news!—The child is missing!
Ter. Nay, then he is not dead!—Oh no, not dead!
I told thee heaven would not so deal with me!
My precious boy will come back on the morrow,—
Hunters are often lost for many days.
These men shall seek for him among the wilds—
I, too, will go myself. Where are the men!

Enter the HUNTER, hastily.

Hunt. Dear lady, woe is me!
Huld. Away, away!
Ter. Where is my boy?
Hunt. Oh wretched, wretched mother!
Ter. Torture me not, but tell me where he is?
Hunt. Lady, forgive me for the news I bring!
Ter. Then he is dead?
Hunt. Most terrible recital!
Lady, thy husband, to preserve himself,
Hath given thy little Paolo to the wolves!
Ter. [with a scream of horror.] Oh no, no, no!
Hunt. He stopped their maws
With thy poor Paolo’s blood!
Ter. He did not so!
Hunt. Poor little one, how he did cry for thee!
Huld. Peace! can’st not hold thy peace. Oh hear it not!
Lady, he is but missing.
Hunt. Poor weak thing!
How he did cling to me, and pray that I
Would save him from his father!

[Teresa clasps her hands, and stands in speechless agony.

I might have snatched a pretty lock of hair;
I wish I had—a pretty curling lock!
Ter. [falling on her knees.] God, of thy mercy strengthen, strengthen me!
Enable me to bear what is thy will!

[She falls insensible to the floor.

Huld. Wretch, why didst tell it her so cruelly—
Besides, the iceberg hunters say not so.
Thou’st killed her by thy tidings!
Hunt. Hark, he comes!
I hear her husband’s voice!
Huld. She must not see him!

[She bears Teresa out.