The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy

Автор

Фридрих Шиллер

Год написания книги

2017

<< 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ... 44 >>

На страницу:

Перейти

5 из 44

Настройки чтения

Размер шрифта

Высота строк

Поля

DON CAESAR

Hear me

ISABELLA (taking their hands)

Be noble, and forget the fancied wrongs
Of boyhood's age: more godlike is forgiveness
Than victory, and in your father's grave
Should sleep the ancient hate: – Oh, give your days
Renewed henceforth to peace and holy love!

[She recedes one or two steps, as if to give them space to approach each other. Both fix their eyes on the ground without regarding one another.

ISABELLA (after awaiting for some time, with suppressed emotion, a demonstration on the part of her sons)

I can no more; my prayers – my tears are vain: —
'Tis well! obey the demon in your hearts!
Fulfil your dread intent, and stain with blood
The holy altars of your household gods; —
These halls that gave you birth, the stage where murder
Shall hold his festival of mutual carnage
Beneath a mother's eye! – then, foot to foot,
Close, like the Theban pair, with maddening gripe,
And fold each other in a last embrace!
Each press with vengeful thrust the dagger home,
And "Victory!" be your shriek of death: – nor then
Shall discord rest appeased; the very flame
That lights your funeral pyre shall tower dissevered
In ruddy columns to the skies, and tell
With horrid image – "thus they lived and died!"

[She goes away; the BROTHERS stand as before.

Chorus (CAJETAN)

How have her words with soft control
Resistless calmed the tempest of my soul!
No guilt of kindred blood be mine!
Thus with uplifted hands I prey;
Think, brothers, on the awful day,
And tremble at the wrath divine!

DON CAESAR (without taking his eyes from the ground)

Thou art my elder – speak – without dishonor
I yield to thee.

DON MANUEL

One gracious word, an instant,
My tongue is rival in the strife of love!

DON CAESAR

I am the guiltier – weaker —

DON MANUEL

Say not so!
Who doubts thy noble heart, knows thee not well;
The words were prouder, if thy soul were mean.

DON CAESAR

It burns indignant at the thought of wrong —
But thou – methinks – in passion's fiercest mood,
'Twas aught but scorn that harbored in thy breast.

DON MANUEL

Oh! had I known thy spirit thus to peace
Inclined, what thousand griefs had never torn
A mother's heart!

DON CAESAR

I find thee just and true:
Men spoke thee proud of soul.

DON MANUEL

The curse of greatness!
Ears ever open to the babbler's tale.

DON CAESAR

Thou art too proud to meanness – I to falsehood!

DON MANUEL

We are deceived, betrayed!

DON CAESAR

The sport of frenzy!

DON MANUEL