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YOLANDA OF CYPRUS




YOLANDA OF CYPRUS

BY
CALE YOUNG RICE

AUTHOR OF
CHARLES DI TOCA, A NIGHT IN AVIGNON,
DAVID, ETC., ETC.

[Illustration: Publisher Logo]

NEW YORK
THE McCLURE COMPANY
MCMVIII


_Copyright, 1908, by The McClure Company_

Published, March, 1908




                              ACT I


    CHARACTERS

    RENIER LUSIGNAN            _A Descendant of the Lusignan Kings
                                   of Cyprus_

    BERENGERE                  _His Wife_

    AMAURY                     _His Son, Commander of Famagouste
                                   under the Venetians_

    YOLANDA                    _The Ward of Berengere, betrothed
                                   to Amaury_

    CAMARIN                    _A Baron of Paphos, Guest in the
                                   Lusignan Castle_

    VITTIA PISANI              _A Venetian Lady, also a Guest_

    MORO                       _A Priest_

    HASSAN                     _Warden of the Castle_

    HALIL                      _His Son, a Boy_

    TREMITUS                   _A Physician_

    OLYMPIO                    _A Greek Boy, serving Amaury_

    ALESSA                   }
    MAGA                     } _Berengere's Women_
    CIVA                     }
    MAURIA                   }

    SMARDA                     _Slave To Vittia_

    PIETRO                     _In Vittia's pay_

    _Priests, Acolytes, etc._

              TIME--_The Sixteenth Century_
              PLACE--_The Island of Cyprus_




YOLANDA OF CYPRUS


    SCENE: _A dim Hall, of blended Gothic and Saracenic styles,
        in the Lusignan Castle, on the island of Cyprus near
        Famagouste. Around the walls, above faint frescoes
        portraying the deliverance of Jerusalem by the
        Crusaders, runs a frieze inlaid with the coats-of-arms
        of former Lusignan kings. On the left, and back, is a
        door hung with heavy damask, and in the wall opposite,
        another. Farther down on the right a few steps, whose
        railing supports a Greek vase with jasmine, lead
        through a chapel to the sleeping apartments. In the
        rear, on either side, are guled lattice windows, and in
        the centre an open grated door, looking upon a loggia,
        and, across the garden below, over the moonlit sea.
        Seats are placed about, and, forward, a divan with rich
        Turkish coverings. A table with a lighted cross-shaped
        candlestick is by the door, left; and a lectern with a
        book on it, to the front, right. As the curtain rises,
        the Women, except_ CIVA, _lean wearily on the divan,
        and_ HALIL _near is singing dreamily:_

            Ah, the balm, the balm,
            And ah, the blessing
            Of the deep fall of night
            And of confessing.
            Of the sick soul made white
            Of all distressing:
            Made white!...
            Ah, balm of night
            And, ah the blessing!

            [_The music falls and all seem yielding to sleep.
                Suddenly there are hoof-beats and sounds at the
                gates below._ HALIL _springs up._

    _Halil._ Alessa! Maga! Voices at the gates!

            [_All start up._

    Some one is come.

    _Alessa._         Boy, Halil, who?

    _Halil._                            Up, up!
    Perhaps lord Renier--No: I will learn.

            [_He runs to curtains and looks._

    It is Olympio! Olympio!
    From Famagouste and lord Amaury!

    _Mauria._                         Ah!
    And comes he here?

    _Halil._            As he were lord of skies!
    To lady Yolanda, by my lute!

    _Maga._                       Where is she?

    _Alessa._ I do not know; perhaps, her chamber.

    _Mauria._                                       Stay:
    His word may be of the Saracens.

    _Halil_ (_calling_).                   Oho!

            [_He admits_ OLYMPIO, _who enters insolently down.
                All press round him gaily._

    _Mauria._ Well, what, Olympio, from Famagouste?
    What tidings? tell us.

    _Maga._                 See, his sword!

    _Olympio._                               Stand off.

    _Mauria._ The tidings, then, the tidings!

    _Olympio._                                None--for women.

    _Mauria._ So-ho, my Cupid? None of the Saracens?
    Of the squadron huddling yesterday for haven
    At Keryneia?

    _Olympio._  Who has told you?

    _Mauria._                      Who?
    A hundred galleys westing up the wind,
    Scenting the shore, but timorous as hounds.
    A gale--and twenty down!

    _Maga._                  The rest are flown?

    _Olympio._ Ask Zeus, or ask, to-morrow, lord Amaury,
    Or, if he comes, to-night. To lady Yolanda
    I'm sent and not to tattle, silly, here.

            [_He starts off, but is arrested by laughter
                within. It is_ CIVA _who enters, holding up a
                parchment._

    O! Only Civa.

            [_Starts again with_ HALIL.

    _Civa._                           How, Olympio!
    Stay you, and hear!--May never virgin love him!
    Gone as a thistle! (_turns_).

    _Mauria._                     Pouf! (_laughs_).

    _Alessa_ (_to_ CIVA).               Now what have you?

    _Civa._ Verses! found in the garden. Verses! verses!
    On papyrus of Paphos. O, to read!
    But you, Alessa--!

    _Alessa_ (_takes them_).      In the garden?

    _Civa._                                       By
    The fountain cypress, at the marble feet
    Of chaste Diana!

    _Maga._           Where Sir Camarin
    And oft our lady--!

    _Civa._              Maga, will you prattle?
    Read them to us, Alessa, read them, read.
    They are of love!

    _Maga._            No, sorrow.

    _Civa._                         O, as a nun
    You ever sigh for sorrow!--They are of love!
    Of princes bursting through enchanted bounds
    To ladies prisoned in an ogre's keep!
    Then of the bridals!--O, they are of love!

    _Maga._ No, Civa, no!--of sorrow! see, her lips!

            [_She points to_ ALESSA, _who, reading, has paled._

    See, see!

    _Civa._    Alessa!

    _Alessa._           Maga--Civa--Ah!

            [_She rends the parchment._

    _Mauria._ What are you doing?

    _Alessa._                      They were writ to _her_!

    _Mauria._ To her? to whom? what are you saying? Read!
    Read us the verses.

    _Alessa._             No.

    _Mauria._                  Tell then his name
    Who writes them, and to whom.

    _Alessa._                      I will not.

    _Mauria._                                   Then
    It is some guilt you hide!--And touching her
    You dote on--lady Yolanda!

    _Alessa._                    Shame!

    _Mauria._                            Some guilt
    Of one, then, in this castle!--See, her lips
    Betray it is.

    _Maga._       No, Mauria! no! no! (_holds her_) hush!

            [_Forms appear without._

    _Mauria._ O, loose me.

    _Maga._                 There, on the loggia! Hush, see--
    Our lady and Sir Camarin.

    _Alessa_ (_fearful_).       It is....
    They heard us, Maga?

    _Maga._                No, but----

    _Mauria_ (_to_ ALESSA).              So? that mouse?

    _Alessa._ You know not, Mauria, what thing you say.--
    He is troubling her; be still.

            [_Stepping out as_ BERENGERE _enters._

                                    My lady?

    _Berengere_ (_unwillingly_).               Yes.
    It is time, now, for your lamps,
    And for your aves and o'erneeded sleep.
    But first I'd know if yet lord Renier----

            [_Sees_ ALESSA'S _face._

    Why are you pale?

    _Alessa._         I?

    _Berengere._           So--and strange.

    _Alessa._                                 We have
    But put away the distaff and the needle.

            CAMARIN _enters._

    _Berengere._ The distaff and the needle--it may be.
    And yet you do not seem----

    _Alessa._                     My lady--?

    _Berengere._                              Go.
    And send me Hassan.

            [_The women leave._

                         Camarin--you saw?
    They were not as their wont is.

    _Camarin._                        To your eyes,
    My Berengere, that apprehension haunts.
    They were as ever. Then be done with fear!

    _Berengere._ I cannot.

    _Camarin._             To the abyss with it. To-night
    Is ours--Renier tarries at Famagouste--
    Is ours for love and for a long delight!

    _Berengere._ Whose end may be--

    _Camarin._                      Dawn and the dewy lark!
    And passing of all presage from you.

    _Berengere_ (_sits_).                  No:
    For think, Yolanda's look when by the cypress
    We read the verses! And my dream that I
    Should with a cross--inscrutable is sleep!--
    Bring her deep bitterness.

    _Camarin._                   Dreams are a brood
    Born of the night and not of destiny.
    She guesses not our guilt, and Renier
    Clasps to his breast ambition as a bride--
    Ambition for Amaury.

    _Berengere._           None can say.
    He's much with this Venetian, our guest,
    Though Venice gyves us more with tyranny
    Than would the Saracen.

    _Camarin._                But through this lady
    Of the Pisani, powerful in Venice,
    He hopes to lift again his dynasty
    Up from decay; and to restore this island,
    This verdure-dream of the seas, unto his house.
    'Tis clear, my Berengere!

    _Berengere._                Then, _her_ design?
    And, the requital that entices her?

            [_Rises._

    Evil will come of it, to us some evil,
    Or to Yolanda and Amaury's love.--
    But, there; the women.

    _Camarin._               And too brief their stay.
    What signal for to-night?

    _Berengere._                Be in the garden.
    Over the threshold yonder I will wave
    The candle-sign, when all are passed to sleep.

    _Camarin._ And with the beam I shall mount up to you
    Quicker than ecstasy.

    _Berengere._            I am as a leaf
    Before the wind and raging of your love.
    Go--go.

    _Camarin._  But to return unto your breast!

            [_He leaves her by the divan._

            [_The women re-enter with silver lighted lamps;
                behind them are_ HASSAN _and the slave_ SMARDA.
                _They wait for_ BERENGERE, _who has stood
                silent, to speak._

    _Berengere_ (_looking up_). Ah, you are come; I had forgotten.
    And it is time for sleep.--Hassan, the gates:
    Close them.

    _Hassan._    And chain them, lady?

    _Berengere._                        Wait no longer.
    Lord Renier will not come.

    _Hassan._                    No word of him?

    _Berengere._ None, though he yesterday left Nicosie
    With the priest Moro.

    _Hassan._               Lady--

    _Berengere._                    Wait no longer.
    Come, women, with your lamps and light the way.

            [_The women go by the steps._ BERENGERE _follows._

    _Hassan_ (_staring after her_). The reason of this mood in her?
        the reason?
    Something is vile. Lady Yolanda weeps
    In secret; all for what? By God! the Paphian?
    Or she of Venice? (_sees_ SMARDA). Now slave! Scythian!
    Why do you linger?

    _Smarda._            I am bidden--(_snarls_) by
    My mistress.

    _Hassan._    Spa! Thy mistress hath, I think,
    Something of hell in her and has unpacked
    A portion in this castle. Is it so?

    _Smarda._ My lady is of Venice.

    _Hassan._                        Strike her, God.
    Her smirk admits it.

    _Smarda._             Touch me not!

    _Hassan._                            I'll wring
    Your tongue out sudden, if it now has lies.
    What of your lady and lord Renier?

    _Smarda._                            Off!

            RENIER _enters behind, with_ MORO.

    _Hassan._ Your lady and lord Renier, I say!
    What do they purpose?

    _Smarda._               Fool-born! look around.

    _Hassan._ Not till----

    _Smarda._                Lord Renier, help.

    _Hassan._                                    What do you say?

            [_Turns, and stares amazed._

    A fool I am...

    _Renier._         Where is my wife?

    _Hassan._                            Why, she...
    This slave stung me to pry.

    _Renier._                     Where is my wife?

    _Hassan._ A moment since she left--the women with her.
    She asked for your return.

    _Renier._                    And wherefore did?

    _Hassan._ You jeer me.

    _Renier._               Answer.

    _Hassan._                        Have you not been gone?

    _Renier._ Not--overfar. Where is Yolanda?--Well?
    No matter; find my chamber till I come.
    Of my arrival, too, no word to any.

            [HASSAN _goes, confused._

    You, Moro, have deferred me; now, I move.
    Whether it is suspicion eats in me,
    Mistrust and fret and doubt--of whom I say not,
    Or whether desire, and unsubduable,
    To see Amaury sceptred--I care not.

            [_To_ SMARDA.

    Slave, to your lady who awaits me, say
    I'm here and now have chosen.

    _Moro._                         Do not!

    _Renier._                                 Chosen.

            [SMARDA _goes._

    None can be great who will not hush his heart
    To hold a sceptre, and Amaury must.
    He is Lusignan and his lineage
    Will drown in him Yolanda's loveliness.

    _Moro._ It will not.

    _Renier._             Then at least I shall uncover
    What this Venetian hints.

    _Moro._                     Sir?

    _Renier._                         I must know.

    _Moro._ 'Tis of your wife?--Yolanda?

    _Renier._                             Name them not.
    They've shut me from their souls.

    _Moro._                             My lord, not so;
    But you repulse them.

    _Renier._               When they pity. No,
    Something has gone from me or never was
    Within my breast. I love not--am unlovable.
    Amaury is not so.
    And this Venetian Vittia Pisani----

    _Moro._ Distrust her!

    _Renier._              She has power.

    _Moro._                                But not truth.
    And yesterday a holy relic scorned.

    _Renier._ She loves Amaury. Wed to her he will
    Be the elected Governor of Cyprus.
    The throne, then, but a step.

    _Moro._                        But all too great.
    And think; Yolanda is to him as heaven:
    He will not yield her.

    _Renier._               Then he must. And she,
    The Venetian, has ways to it--a secret
    To wrench her from his arms.

    _Moro._                        Sir, sir?--of what?

    _Renier._ I know not, of some shame.

    _Moro._                               Shame!

    _Renier._                                    Why do you clutch me?

    _Moro._ I--am a priest--and shame----

    _Renier._                              You show suspicions.

            [VITTIA _enters unnoted._

    Of whom?--Of whom, and what?

    _Vittia_ (_lightly_).         My lord, of women.

            [RENIER _starts and turns._

    So does the Holy Church instil him.

    _Renier._                             You
    Come softly, lady of Venice.

    _Vittia._                     Streets of sea
    In Venice teach us.

    _Renier._             Of what women, then?
    My wife? Yolanda?

    _Vittia._           By the freedom due us,
    What matters it? In Venice our lords know
    That beauty has