[_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 pa.s.sion 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 n.o.ble, 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 n.o.ble 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, n.o.ble 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 amba.s.sador, as a gift unto the queen.
Thus, as a poor and nameless slave, I seek to win the n.o.ble 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.
Helon. Grieve not, my child; he will live, and learn to love thee fondly. The cares of a kingdom are too much for one so young; but he would have happiness throughout his native land, and toiling for the good of others he hath hidden his sorrow in his own heart, and pined for tenderness and love. Thou hast asked if thou couldst save him. There is one hope, if thou canst find a brave friend that fears no danger when a good work leads him on. Listen, my daughter! In a deep and lonely glen, far beyond the palace gates, there grows an herb whose magic power "tis said brings new life and strength to those who wreathe it round their head in slumber. Yet none dare seek the spot, for spirits are said to haunt the glen, and not a slave in all the palace but grows pale at mention of the place. I am old and feeble, or I had been there long ere this. And now, my child, who canst thou send?
Ione. I will send one who fears not spirit or demon; one who will gladly risk e"en life itself for the brave young prince.
Helon. Blessed be the hand that gathers, thrice blessed be he who dares the dangers of the way. Bring hither him thou speakest of. I would see him.
Ione. She stands before thee. Nay, start not, Father. _I_ will seek the dreaded glen and gather there the magic flowers that may bring health to Constantine and happiness to me. I will away; bless, and let me go.
Helon. Thou, a woman delicate and fair! Nay, nay, it must not be, my child! Better he should die than thou shouldst come to harm. I cannot let thee go.
Ione. Thou canst not keep me now. Thou hast forgot I am a slave, and none may guess beneath this veil a princess is concealed. I will take my water-urn, and with the other slaves pa.s.s to the spring beyond the city gates; then glide unseen into the haunted glen. Now, tell me how looks the herb, that I may know it.
Helon. "Tis a small, green plant that blossoms only by the broad, dark stream, dashing among the rocks that fill the glen. But let me once again implore thee not to go. Ah, fatal hour when first I told thee!
"Tis sending thee to thy death! Stay, stay, my child, or let me go with thee.
Ione. It cannot be; do thou remain, and if I come not back ere set of sun, do thou come forth to seek me. Tell Constantine I loved him, and so farewell. I return successful, or I return no more.
[Ione _rushes out._
Helon. Thou brave and n.o.ble one to dare so much for one who loves thee not! I"ll go and pray the G.o.ds to watch above thee, and bring thee safely back.
[_Exit_ Helon.
CURTAIN.
SCENE FIFTH.
[_A terrace beside the palace.
Enter_ Constantine.]
Con. Why comes she not? I watched her slender form when with the other slaves she went forth to the fountain yonder. I knew her by the rosy veil and snow-white arm that bore the water-urn. The morning sun shone brightly on the golden hair, and seemed more beautiful for resting there; and now "tis nearly set, and yet she comes not. Why should I grieve because my mother"s slave forgets me? Shame on thee, Constantine!
How weak and childish have I grown! This fever gives no rest when Ione is not here to sing sweet songs, and cheer the weary hours. Ah, she comes! [_Enter_ Ione _with basket of flowers._] Where hast thou been, Ione? The long day pa.s.sed so slowly, and I missed thee sadly from my side. But thou art pale; thy locks are damp! What has chanced to thee?
Speak, I beseech thee!