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The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

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.

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.

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.]

[A light knock is heard.]

[Emma opens the door on the left. Enter Eginhardt.]

[Distant singing is faintly heard.... Emma

opens door, left. Eginhardt throws a cloak

over her. They stand looking out.]

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.——

[She totters for a second beneath Eginhardt's

weight.]

[Exit Emma with Eginhardt on her back. After a

time she returns, panting, and closes the door.]

[She takes up a crucifix and kneels before the silk.]

ACT II.

Scene.—The same as Act I. The following morning. Emma, in her gala attire, lies asleep on the couch, a mantle over her feet. Etta enters abruptly through centre door. She notices the Princess and seems relieved.

Etta. Why there she lies and fast asleep. I had
Such fright to find her bed untenanted.
The day's excitement must have tired and then
The King's late visit. I should have stayed or sent
A waiting-maid; but she insists at times
On privacy, the privilege of being
As lesser folk. I have a shrewd suspicion!
Well let it be! Her virtue's proof 'gainst fire
Itself and Master Eginhardt is old
In wisdom. Their talk is but of grammar-rules,
Of ancient days and poetry. They have
My sympathy; though scarce my understanding.
Frivolity would seem more natural,
Would better suit their youthfulness; but learning
Has set its seal on courtly fashion, till even
The cooks and pantry men discuss in terms
Of rhetoric. Well, well the King attends
The palace school and comprehends; while others,
Of weaker wit, absorb the jargon, failing
To delve for sense.——How sweet my Princess looks,
Dear soul; her dimpling smile disarms all envy,
Else might one say 'tis most unfair that she
Should have so much; while houseless beggars crowd
Our narrow streets. Pretence may smirk and strut
And poverty may wince and crawl but here
There's restfulness. A knock!

[The door, left, is pushed

open.... Enter Albert.]

[Emma wakes up, seems surprised to see her visitors, sits

up and listens unnoticed by them.]

[Exit Albert.]

[Exit Etta, centre door.... She soon returns with the

gown. Sighing and shaking her head she helps Emma

make the change.]

[She hands the dove to Etta. Exit, left, hastily. Etta

makes a movement to follow her, then stops and soothes

the bird.]

[Enter, left, Albert.]

[Exit, left, Albert. Etta seeks to soothe the bird.

Enter Charles, in ordinary Frankish attire, attended by

Albert. Etta kneels imploringly.]

[The dove escapes through doorway, left.]

[Exuent Etta, door centre;

Albert door left.... Charles stares round moodily. A

knock is heard.]

[Enter Hildebold, left, closing the

door after him.]

[He leans on the table and sinks his head

on his arms, oblivious to everything. Hildebold

advances as though to touch him, then steps back and

sits down, casting pitying glances at him. After a

while Charles looks up.]

[Covering his face with his hands.]

[Exit, left, hastily.]

[Exit, left.]

ACT III.

Scene.—A clearing in the forest near Aquisgranum. At the back, amid trees, a charcoal-burner's hut and a kiln. On the left a linden and copse leading to a grove once sacred to heathen deities; but now feared and shunned. On the right a barricade of logs and fallen trees so placed in one part to form steps. Ernst advances from his kiln, looks over the barricade as though expecting some one. He is joined by Guta who comes out of the hut.

Ernst. 'Tis mild for harvest-moon and yet the wind's
Unsettled, portending what? How strange the snow
That came so suddenly then disappeared
As some night wraith that fears clear-visioned day. Guta. The Devil must have pinched his wife she dropped
Such frozen tears. 'Tis most unfair that when
She's disciplined poor folk should feel so oft
The dripping moisture of her grief; 'tis bad
For rheumatism. Ernst. And good for forest trees.
The witch deserves to spill some tears, she has
So often damaged them; what branches crunch
And fall, when she, amount her broomstick, rides
A gale through serpent-hissing, midnight skies. Guta. And so thou'rt in the skies and never wilt
Thou heed my limping gait, that cries a life
In town, some gaiety before a coffin
Completes this stiffening. Ernst. And leave our home?
Guta. That hovel! Ernst. What could I do?
Guta. Thou might'st instruct
The palace school, save Master Eginhardt
These many visits here. Ernst. If I had been
A cleric, had learnt to read and write, maybe,
May be— Guta. Thou hast a head well stacked with knowledge.
Do books all boast as much? 'Tis odd that thou,
A peasant, hast such stuff within, that courtiers
Must come to pump it out then serve it for
The King. Ernst. The King loves ancient hero-tales.
A proper King! a proper Emperor!
What's more, a proper man. I wonder why
Good Master Eginhardt delays; I promised
Some verse, it quivers on my lips. That's just
The way, he comes when I am disinclined
And now he dallies. Guta. Last night I dreamt of death,
Royal mourners wailed. In fright I woke. The wind
Blew fluted dirge-like notes; but dreams are ay
Contrariwise. Most like 'twas wedding bells.
I wish good Master Eginhardt would come;
I thirst to hear Court gossip, e'en the bits
He doles with grudging tongue. And he could tell
Us of the long-nosed beast with dragon skin
That I so dread, yet wish to see. Ernst. A crackling!
Hist! but not our scholar's steed, nor yet
A wandering huntsman's. Such a footfall, quiet
And even, forewarns at least a Bishop's palfrey.
As I'm alive 'tis Father Hildebold;
Who now dismounts and ties his horse. [He mounts the
barricade and stoops to help Hildebold up.] The steps
Are steep so have a care. We welcome you.

[Enter Hildebold, appearing over the barricade.]

[After helping him, the peasants kneel to receive a

blessing.]

[Exit with Ernst who soon returns. Guta mutters

to herself.]

[A cry for help is heard. It dies down, then comes again.]

[The noise of some one

approaching is heard.]

[Enter Eginhardt.]

[Ernst and Guta mount the steps but as they descend

the other side they pause and look round unnoticed by

Emma and Eginhardt.]

[Emma drapes the cross with the white silk.]

[Some leaves of the linden rustle slightly.]

[Emma and Eginhardt kneel before the cross and repeat

together.]

[They kneel in silent prayer. Suddenly from the

linden tree a dove flits down and lights on Emma's

shoulder.]

[Exuent Ernst and Guta.]

[Exit through door of hut.]

[Enter Eginhardt

with some hunks of bread and a mug of milk.]

[They both eat hastily.]

[They go into the hut and come out laden.]

[Exuent, the trees closing on them.]

ACT IV.

Scene.—The same as Act III, six years later. It has a more deserted appearance. Some smoke escapes the kiln. The steps of the barricade are broken down, leaving a narrow passage, through which enter Charles in hunting attire and Albert, whose court finery is somewhat dishevelled.

Charles. Why, Albert, see, there's smoke, haste thee! Inquire! Albert. [Looks into the hut.] No sign of life within the hut, my Lord.
Nor little else. An emptiness that weighs
Like what's inside my belt. Will you not blow
Your horn, my Lord, that baskets may be brought. Charles. My courtiers think of food, of clothes; thou'rt dressed
As for a festival and so the rest.
Indeed 'twould shock our simple ancestors
Could they but see the follies prevalent
To-day, the love of luxury, the splurge,
The flaunt of silk and jewels, the rich-piled velvets,
The pranking plumes, the strut and swagger. Yet
Methinks, on closer view, thy feathers have
A languid droop, thy coat has lost its vain
Bravado, thy ribboned finery agrees
But ill with huntsman's sport. Albert. My Lord, if I
Am privileged to speak, we dressed prepared
For Council work; but you withdrew, changed plans,
Made call for dogs and horses, spears and bows;
Gave us no time to change. Charles. Do I want fops
For Councillors? Grave work needs grave attire.
Ye came arrayed for dance and spectacle
So I was forced to holiday. The chase
Has made some spectacles, I trow. [Laughing.] Nay stay
Thy sulks, seek now thy friends, beg them retain
This morning's lesson; hark! and come not back
Until my horn wakes echoes. Albert. [Turns to go, then stops.] But is it wise
To leave you here alone, my Lord; this place
Is ill reputed. Charles. See that rustic cross,
Some pious pilgrim's work. Six years ago
'Twas noticed first; since then long winters have
Unloaded snow and whipped the biting blast,
Yet there it stands assuringly. How oft,
When unsought vigils have distressed, my mind
Has flown to this same spot, has tried to pierce
Its mystery, has lingered round those branchlets,
Gleaned a strange relief; and now again
Smoke floats above the charcoal kiln. All haste,
Count Albert, comb the woods, make nearby search,
Discover him who caused that smoke, who stirs
A smouldering hope; but still my heart! the flame
May yet die down as has so oft occurred.
Haste, haste Count Albert, I would know the worst
Or best.

[Albert starts to go. Enter Ernst who collides with him.]

[A rustling is heard 'mid the trees.]

[Exuent Albert and Ernst.]

[He falls asleep. The scene grows perfectly dark. After

a time the twinkling light of candles gradually discloses

three mushroom-shaped tables, on which the candles stand

among golden goblets and dishes. Around each table sits

a group of three Wish-maidens, aethereally dressed, with

long flowing locks.]

Sisters, we quaff to the past,

When forests were thick and daylight dim.

Sisters, we quaff to the past.

Once sacred this grove, here heard Woden's hymn.

Sisters, we quaff to the past.

The past! the past! [They drink deeply.]

Wind-spirits are we, wild women called,

Substance of water and air,

Of fabric whence breathed the ancient scald

Verses that seize and ensnare.

Through tempests we ride, upheaval's din,

Light as a figment of dreams,

And sometimes we flash a visioned sin,

Sometimes a virtue that gleams.

The bubbles of thought we puff at night

Enter the soul that is cursed,

Awaking a shameless appetite,

Perfidy, shuffling, war-thirst.

The bubbles of thought we throw from light

Enter the soul that is blessed,

Like dust of the rainbow, pearled and bright,

Singing of hope and of quest.

But Sisters the future stores for us

Obloquy, exile, and wrong;

Already the signs grow ominous,

Seldom man hearkens to song.

So spill from our cups—earth honouring,

Earth that will triumph one day;

Let earth play the tune round faery ring,

Twanging the strings we obey.

[Where the wine is spilt on the ground dwarfs spring up,

each clad in green and bearing a golden harp.]

Clear tables away, come dwarfs, come elves

Harp for us, harp long and loud!

Let fingers that grasp the golden helves

Work strings with music endowed.

[The tables are pushed back. In front sit the dwarfs

who first play slow dance music, gradually quickening the

time. The Wish-maidens dance in three groups. From a

slow gliding step they arrive at a dizzy whirl. Then

suddenly they stop, break up their groups and sing

while making steps and motions to imitate weaving.]

We dance to the past while weaving tales,

Rosy with mist of the dawn,

Astir with the mood of wilful gales,

Lightsome as leap of a fawn.

We dance to the present, weaving fears.

Daylight strews shadows behind;

The dazzle of noon dissolves in tears,

Man is the sport of the wind.

We dance to the future, weaving death,

Purpled with evening sky;

A knowledge has come with failing breath,

The courts of Valhalla on high.

So round and around we faster spin,

Straightening the tangles of time;

We dance to the earth, find spirit within,

Hark! to the music sublime.

[They stand prettily poised listening, each with the right

forefinger raised. The scene grows quite dark again

while delightful strains of heavenly music are heard.

After a time they die away. The scene lightens, Charles is

discovered still sleeping. All trace of Wish-maidens, tables

and dwarfs have disappeared unless it be David, a little

green-clad figure, who enters from the copse, losing his

hat on a thornbush. He looks round wonderingly, then

comes and examines Charles.]

[Enter Ernst. He sees David and stands transfixed.]

Pass the loving cup,

Kling, klang, klung.

Let us brightly sup,

Ting, tang, tung.

What's disturbed by light,

Ting, tang, tung.

Let us mend at night,

Kling, klang, klung.

[As Charles disappears, following David,

enter Albert.]

[Enter Audulf, Herbert and other courtiers scrambling

over the barricade. Their rich attire, like Albert's,

has suffered somewhat from the chase.]

[Exit Audulf. The rest kneel round the cross.]

ACT V.

Scene—The interior of a log hut. The walls are draped with rare skins and decorated with horns and heads. The furniture is covered with skins. There are interesting collections of curios, dried grasses and ferns; and everywhere freshly gathered asters in horn mugs. The whole presents a most artistic appearance. Emma sits on a couch beside a cradle, crooning a slumber song to the infant in her arms. Beside her sits Eginhardt, attaching feathers to his arrows. Through the door, centre back, fruit trees are seen. Six years have greatly changed Emma and Eginhardt. The latter has a long black beard; both are tanned and seem stouter.

Emma.

Little one, close fast thine eyes,

Thy guardian angel near thee flies;

Close thy rosebud-mouth, thine ears

To all want and needless fears.

Little one, lie still and rest,

Mother holds thee at her breast,

Like a flower by lover plucked,

Kissed and in maid's kerchief tucked.

Little one, thou'rt sweeter far

Than any petal-textured star,

Sweeter than a lover's gift;

Thou art joy that God hath whiffed.

Little one, keep pure and true,

Let no taint thy heart bedew.

Mother's prayer is spent for thee,

Now and through eternity.

Little one, if dreams should come,

Hurt, or aught that's troublesome,

Put thy trust in God above

As now thou lean'st on mother-love.

Little one, thy cradle's here,

Mother stays and watches near.

Swansdown-pillowed, slumber long,

Mother ends her drowsy song.

[Emma gently rocks the cradle in which she has laid the

sleeping child.]

[He drops his head in his hands.]

[Enter David.]

[Enter Charles, who stoops to pass the

doorway. He does not recognize his hosts.]

[Who, with Eginhardt, recognizes Charles, laying

her hand on her heart as though to still its throbbings.]

[He sits by the central table.]

[While Emma places the venison on the table, David,

who has his eyes on Charles, drops a dish, waking the

latter.]

[He mumbles an Ave Maria while all cross

themselves and sit down. Emma carves the venison,

Eginhardt opens his book. Charles stares wonderingly

round.]

[He reads from Chapter XII. of the Nineteenth Book of

"The City of God."]

[Eginhardt blows the horn, while Charles turns to his

venison and Emma quiets the baby. An answering call

comes faint, then louder.]

[Exit.]

[She pours some wine for Charles.]

[After a pause enter Hildebold, Eginhardt, David,

Albert, Ernst and Courtiers.]

Ya ho! ya ho! let Frankland ring

With daring deeds, with battles won;

Great Lords submit to Charles, our King,

As stars that fear the rising sun.

Ya ho! ya ho! for Victory!

Now Frankland's voice is heard afar,

It trumpets peace o'er land and sea,

The War God lists and stays his car.

Ya ho! ya ho! for huntsman's horn

Awakes once more the forest glade,

With mirth and joy that put to scorn

The battle scar, the murky blade.

Ya ho! ya ho! the quarry's traced,

Six years of search have ended now,

The fairest doe that ere was chased,

To her we make a lowly bow.

[The courtiers all make obeisance to Emma.]

THE TALL PALMETTO
and
OTHER POEMS

THE TALL PALMETTO

The dense live-oaks were swept with wrath,

The rubber trees swung roots in mire,

A fine-leafed cedar tittered spite,

Magnolias were flushed with ire.

Alone within the garden pale

A tall palmetto gently swayed,

Serenely straight its feathered head

Above all else had skywards strayed,

To catch the first, faint blush of dawn,

To linger long with sunset's glow,

To trace the moon's illusive course

From orange disc to silvery bow.

So strove the palm and was content

To glimpse at times a furtive clue,

To pierce the haze of mystery,

Emerging thence with leaflet new.

And as the leaf, fanlike, unfurled,

Its green was showered with radiance,

Eternal truth had shed fresh light,

Another phaze! another glance.

And so the palm in stature grew,

In lofty thought and vision wide,

Unmindful of a carping world,