Scene I.—A road, skirting a southern sea. Father and daughter are walking along it hand in hand. Their servants are behind.
Vittoria. Let Vanni and Teresa stay awhile To watch the horses eat, and you and I, Padre carissimo, will climb the hill, To find what lies beyond. I cannot see A road that thus leads off into the blue Without a quiver in my feet to go Unto its very end, where surely waits All that I wish to know.
Father (smiling sadly). Bambina mia, You know already that the springtime runs Swiftly along our path. Red tulips grow Close to the beaten dust. Anemones Make purple shadows in the living grass— That is enough to know!
Vittoria.That is enough to know! How the sun shines! And see, between the gray-green olive leaves, The sky is blue. Just as they did at home The birds sing here: nothing is different, And yet to me it all is strange and new. Adventure lurks for me behind each hill And all is mystery. Only the sea Is still the same. Father, you cannot know My joy in this! You cannot feel how sweet Is the first step upon the open road. [The father sighs. But you are weary? Father.But you are weary? Nay, yet I shall be When we have reached the top. Vittoria.have reached the toOh, what is that?
[She points to a distant city visible from the top of the hill.
Father. That, daughter, is the city of my birth. Watch her great river shining toward the sea! Its murmur was the first sound in my ears. And look! That golden cross against the blue Marks the cathedral into whose white stone My forebears, working, father and then son, Built their own lives. The slender tower there Guards the grim fortress where my father sat And helped to rule the city.
Vittoria.d to rule the city. Tell me more!
Father. I see, but you cannot—eyes will not serve— A narrow street that meets the river-bank And part way climbs the hill. There you may find In tiny shops, and studios half hid Close to the eaves, pictures and carvings rare, Statues whose marble is immortal, all By inspiration in long silence wrought, Sacred with patience of unnumbered years. That narrow street is held in reverence Throughout the world. Thither throng human souls As to a tidal river come the waves.
Vittoria. And never have I seen it, street nor church Nor crowding people. Why, along the sea Have we stayed hidden? Will you tell me now?
Father. Dear, you have asked so often! not to-day. Some day you shall be told.
Vittoria.you shall be told. Oh, I shall be So wise, my father, when you tell me all That you have promised—some day!
Father.have promised—some day! Little one, Of all the wisdom of my sixty years The best is shared with you. Be happy, dear, And let the silences be silence: better thus Than turn them into pain.
Vittoria.them into pain. I am content With speech or silence, padre mio. Both From you are as the voice of God to me. This warm sun makes me sleepy. Will you sit And let me find a pillow on your knee Until they come?
[They sit down on the rocks by the roadside. Vittoria puts her head against her father’s knee, and presently falls asleep. He sits, now looking down at her, now off in the distance toward the city of his birth.
Father.they come? Strange that upon one road Sunshine should fall on her face, and from mine The shadow not be lifted!
Scene II.—There is a footstep on the road. Luigi Montara approaches, his head bent, a book under his arm. He stops, then uncovers his head and advances.
Luigi. If some misfortune has befallen you Pray let me be of service.
Father.e be of service. Nay, we rest; Our horses are behind. We journey on After an hour toward the city gates.
Luigi. Surely not now!
Father.Surely not now! And wherefore?
Luigi.Surely not now! AndKnow you not All leave the city and none enter now? Within is horror, for the plague is there. Each day the river carries toward the sea Scores of dead bodies.
Father.dead bodies. Father. Hush! Oh, hush!——
Luigi.You cannot bear to hear it, yet would go?
Cease your vainGo on I must.
Luigi.Go on I muSome weighty matter then Of life and death——
Father (in sudden anger). Cease your vain talk of death, For she may wake. My daughter never yet Has heard the word “death” spoken. You stand dumb, Uncomprehending. Yet, for nineteen years She has been happy, and she does not dream That death is lord of life. See, her cheeks glow, And her eyes, opened, shine. To womanhood One child has grown untouched by the great fear.
Luigi (slowly). She is most beautiful.
Father.(slowly). She is most Sir, sit you down And help me plan for this day and the next, For I am old, and helpless as a child, And great is my perplexity. Fear not! She will not waken if we whisper.
Luigi.not waken if we whisper. You Are of the city?
Father.the city? Twenty years ago I was a ruler of my city there: My name is Pontarini.
Luigi.ame is Pontarini. A great name! Great and unstained.
Father.unstained. Father. Your eyes are kind and grave For one so young. They question me, and I, Because I feel that you will understand, Will tell you what no living man has heard. Yonder in that white city, years ago, I lived with wife and child, absorbed, content In that great happiness that tempts the gods. For paradise I would not have exchanged The room wherein my lady sat, the path Along the garden where she made the air Holy by her mere passing. When the child, A year old, could say “madre,” as she played With the bright tresses of her mother’s hair, One day my life was ended. By the pall Over my lady’s dust, I made a vow And I have kept it. There should be on earth One life, I swore, all joy. One soul should go By the great fear unshadowed. We have lived Yonder in a walled villa by the sea. Beyond the falling of the leaves, my child Knows naught of the great change. Most carefully Has she been shielded, and she has not seen The death of any living thing. The birds Have ever sung to her: they come and go, Leaving no trace of death. Search through the wood And you will never find a tiny bone That crumbles, showing life for them as aught But an eternal song upon the air. She has been happy. Now, upon my heart The hand of death has fallen. Few the days And few the hours left, above the grass And in the sun, for me. I travel on To bear one message I am bound to give My city ere I die.
Vittoria (half wakens, nestles her cheek against her father’s hand, and murmurs:) I am so happy here with you.
[The two men breathe lightly until she sleeps again.
Father (piteously).breathe lightly My son, I know not how to act. I have delayed, Have waited, knowing any day might bring The awful knowledge to her, through the touch Of my dead hand. Often upon my lips The words have trembled, but I cannot speak. A coward am I, and I cannot shut The sunshine from her, cannot take away The fragrance from the flowers. That the thought Which blackens all the sky above our heads, And makes the green grass wither, must be hers, Is more than I can bear For all these years While I have walked with death, she has not seen The shadow at my side.
Luigi.shadow at my side. Sir, just below The crest of yonder hill, a convent stands Where I have taken refuge. Will you come And bring your daughter to the safety there? In its great quiet you can form some plan.
Father. Monks always prattle of the grave and death— How could I shield my daughter?
Luigi.could I shield my daughter? These are they Vowed unto silence, and they may not speak, In fear of penance. Prithee, let me go To tell them that you come. You trust me, sir? See, I walk lightly, lest the sleeper wake.
Father (watching him as he goes). The fate was kind that sent him to our aid.
Luigi(to himself). What will the eyes be when the lashes lift,
The eyes that know not death?
ACT II
Scene I.—The convent garden. Monks in white Carmelite robes pace up and down the cloister, praying. The father sits at the refectory door, reading. Vittoria stands by the garden wall.
Luigi. You look away from all the flowers here, Roses and Easter lilies, daffodils, As if you did not even hear the bees Humming about them. Will you tell at what You gaze so steadfastly?
Vittoria..so steadfastly? That great white cliff Yonder, with the blue water at its edge, And the sky’s blue above. It is too steep For any orange-tree or cypresses To grow along its side. Look, can you see?
Luigi (gazing only at her). I see!
Vittoria.It haunts me, and the long, white, even road Lies like an invitation to pursue And find what there is hidden, for it seems That something terrible or splendid waits Within its shadow. I am but a child Longing to see beyond the farthest hill. Never till yesterday did I set foot Upon the highway, and I do not know This world that lies beyond our villa wall. Doubtless I seek for much that is not there.
Luigi. And you are sad?
Vittoria.you are sad? My father does not see: Pray, may I not be sad alone with you?
Luigi. You may be what you will. I only ask That I may understand: you puzzle me.
Vittoria.My father always longed to have me gay, For therein was his happiness. I smile Ever for him, and I have laughed when sobs ‘aught in my throat. Women must learn to be That which men wish, Teresa says, and hide All pain and hunger far down in their hearts. Making me happy was my father’s life: To him, I have been happy.
Luigi.I have been happy.Of yourself And all you did in the long summer days Will you not tell me? Paint for me the place That I may see it.
Vittoria.may see it. There are no steep rocks As here, where the convent walls make one With the great piles of stone that meet the sea; Only a long green slope and a gray wall, And, by the water, a small crescent beach, Shaped like a waxing moon. Two poplar trees, Close to it, cut the blue; and, higher up, Ilex and cypresses, and yellow walls Where the house stands. There are white marble busts Of kings and poets in the ilex shade, Green moss on chin and forehead. All day long On the gray dial in the grass the sun Counts off the hours.
Luigi.nts off the hours.Meanwhile—you?
Vittoria.nts off the hours.Meanwhile—you?I sit Embroidering at the window, and I hear The fountain trickling in the inner court. When the brief shadow of the orange-tree Is just beneath it, saying it is noon, I go to sit, in the hall paved with stone, At our great table. There I serve the bread, The cheese, the salad, and the purple grapes, And for my father pour red wine or white, As he may choose. So all the days. No one Goes ever from us, no one ever comes.
Luigi. And are you happy?
Vittoria.And are you happy?I have been, and yet Forever waiting, waiting with a sense Of mystery, for it has always seemed That some new footfall on the floor might bring The tidings that would make me understand. Life is so shut away!
Luigi.is so shut away! It is for all! All share the shadow where we grope our way. We study deeply and we think; we watch, Wandering freely on the open ways, But no one of us knows.
Vittoria (shaking her head). Nay, you are wise; It is not hidden from you as from me. Your eyes are those of one who understands.
Luigi (looking always at her). I too have waited, but more easily Than you can find shall I find what I seek. For finer souls like yours the search is long.
Vittoria But I forget my father! There he sits, His eyes fixed on the distant city: so He watches all the time, and counts the spires, Almost invisible, then looks at me, Saying, “Within an hour I must start.” And yet he does not, neither will he tell What is his message, nor the reason why I may not go with him. I long to share His glorious mission, and I fain would hear The beat of footsteps in that narrow street. Only a maiden am I, yet may serve! And I am young and strong, while he is old; Why must I linger here and let him go?
Luigi. Nay, I will go for him! Old and infirm He must not travel all that way alone. If he will trust his message, I with pride Will carry it
Vittoria.carry itYou are most courteous To aid an old man and a helpless girl. How can we thank you?
Luigi.can we thank you? For my great reward I claim the service only.
[There is a sound of a bell. The monks go shuffling two by two along the cloister, and enter the chapel door. Then comes a sudden burst of organ music, and many voices, chanting. Vitoria listens, and her cheeks are wet with tears.
Vittoria. Oh, tell me what it is! The sweetness hurts. Who has the power to touch our ears like this?
Luigi. It is the mid-day prayer. What troubles you? Is it the music?
Vittoria (reddening). I know not the word, And never yet have heard this pleading sound, Being most ignorant.
Luigi (looking at the father). I understand! Listen! They pray.
Vittoria.They pray. Of praying I know naught, [The music begins again. Oh, more than anything I ever heard It seems that this might be the voice to speak The words for which I waited, tell me all The secret meaning I have missed before. And yet it makes me sad, as in the spring The new leaves sadden me. [Luigi watches her as she listens, forgetting him.
Luigi.new leaves sadden me. Men’s purposes Are ever their defeat! He who would keep Her childhood in her, has prevailed to make Thinker and poet, with soft-shadowed eyes, Wiser than other maidens’, yet with mouth More smiling. Tall and very fair she moves Among the garden lilies, with white brows And fine-wrought cheek and nostril, her brown hair Smooth in the noon-day sunshine. Would her face Have been all gladness at my going hence If she had understood?
Scene II.—Several days later, Murmur of the service, as always. The father watches his daughter and the scholar who pace the garden paths between red roses growing over graves.
Father. How her eyes follow him! When he is near She blossoms like a flower in the sun, Wistful and tender all her face has grown, As it has never been. She knows it not, And yet she loves him. [From the chapel comes the sound of the creed:
Credo in spiritum sanctum, . . . sanctorum communionem, carnis resurrectionem, vitam aternam.
Father.yet she loves him.It is very strange That my last moments should be sweet like this. Yonder the monks are praying, but their prayers Mean naught to me. Here, in the sun, my child Learns love for this young stranger. Prayer nor love Is mine, yet I am glad for both, and warm I go between them. Still I linger here For joy to see, my great task unfulfilled. They love as we loved in the garden there Where fountains played, and where the roses stood, Thus, slim and single. So, but more golden-haired. Her mother walked among them. Even so Our faces quivered, and our lips were still. She loves. When will she know? She does not dream In this great happiness, how terrible The guest who comes unbidden, evermore To hold the secret chambers of her heart. Nor can she see how close death stands behind, Waiting to cast his shadow on her face. I would have spared her—I was merciful! I would have spared her love and death!
ACT II
Scene I.—The garden. Late afternoon. Father. You would go down for me To the plague-stricken city, there to do The service that compels me?
Luigi.that compels me? Sir, at once, And gladly.
Father.gladly.You say you love my daughter. How can you then so lightly turn your face From love and joy, and, for her father’s sake, Venture to certain death?
Luigi.to certain death? Did I not say I love her?
Father. In your youth and strength you dare Face the great fear unflinching?
Luigi.the great fear unflinching? Torture me No longer! Let me go at once! No saint Am I, and in this battle I must fight I can acquit myself more valiantly With horse beneath me and the road ahead. Maybe I shall return; and death itself For me is terrorless. It does not mean Your final shutting of an iron door; I am of those who hold its endless hope,
The father points to Vittoria, who sits at her window embroidering.
Luigi (his hands clenched, and the sound of a sob in his throat). I who would die to serve her cannot let Her father perish, as flies perish.
Father.father perish, as flies perish.Go, Go then and save me.
Luigi (walking swiftly away). I return to hear, Before I start, the message I must bear.
Father. Knowledge of death is in his eyes, and love Is written on his mouth, and yet he goes. (Calls.) Come back! Come back!
[The scholar turns slowly, not once lifting his eyes to Vittoria’s window.
You are pure gold, my son. I did but try you. All I hold most dear Is yours. I longed, upon my dying bed, To say, “He is found worthy, and will keep The secret for her.” Surely you forgive! Go, and drink deep of joy. What I must do No man can do for me. Long years ago, In a quick tumult of the city street, I saw one strike, and saw another fall. Suspicion rested on the innocent, Yet no man touched him, and I held my peace, Letting my silence punish other sins Of him, most guilty. He who struck that blow Was my one friend. Now I am near to death And know that I was wrong. I go to swear The oath that clears my enemy, and that My tongue alone can fashion. You must live If you would serve me truly. Does my child Know of your love?
Luigi.Know of your love? She knows!
[There is a loud knock at the convent gate. When it is opened, a horseman, dusty, dishevelled, leans from his horse to say hurried words to the brother who has gone to receive him. Frate Giacomo crosses himself at the news.
Father (looking toward the window and smiling). She does not tremble! Nineteen years of age,
Yet not afraid to hear a sudden knock Upon the gate! Through all these years my heart With each new sound of knocking at the door Has answered to old sorrow, with a thought Of coming pain.
Frate Giacomo (muttering to himself as he hurries from the gate). Four hundred stricken dead
Within the city yesterday, to-day! Four hundred dead! Their bodies in the streets Unburied and unshriven! For our souls Ora, Maria! Ave Maria! Pray——
Father (starting).Oh, I must go, or I shall come too late!
Why have I lingered here day after day When precious was each hour? Now it grows late; In early morning will I journey on. No second sunset finds me lingering here.
Luigi. Your strength is spent, and you are old: once more
I pray you, let me go.
Father.pray you, let me go.The seal of death Is on me. If the plague seize me or no, My days are few. To her I say farewell As one who journeys only for a day. Perhaps I steal away without a word, For she is wilful, as all maidens are, And eager to go with me. When a thought Seizes upon her, all her life is set In that one way. She is too quick in act As in resolve. My son, when I am gone Guard well her happiness! You both are young, And is not youth immortal? Live for her, Standing ’twixt her and fear. Give me your oath That you will guard her, far as in you lies, From knowing aught of death.
Luigi.nowing aught of death.So help me God!
Father. Then I go on content; but ere I start I fain would see you in the chapel there Wedded before the altar. [Luigi bares his head.
Scene II.—The garden, a little later. Vespers in the chapel. The sound of the litany mingles with the sound of the sea.
Vittoria. Teresa waits for me; I must go in. See, all along the west the sky has turned The color of these saffron roses here, Yellow, with crimson at the heart. How pale The one star shines above the cypress-trees!
Luigi. One moment only while we hear them sing! (To himself.) Ah, they are praying for the newly dead. [The monks chant Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine.
Vittoria. I do not understand, but it is sweet— Part of the undreamed beauty that I find Filling a world where all is strange to me: In new hill slopes, new pathways, and in you.
Luigi. Beloved, do not leave me! Tell me why You tremble when I speak.
Vittoria.tremble when I speak.It is not you, But through you something great and terrible Speaks to me, and I bow my head in fear.
Luigi. Are you content? Always mouth smiles, yet Sometimes I find your brown eyes hungry still, And then I am afraid that my great love Is not the message that you longed to hear. And yet, if aught can ever lead your feet Whither they wish to come, it must be love.
Vittoria. It is a message that I wonder at! My lord and lover, if my eyes ask aught, It is more love, and more, and more. I know But one need now.
[Again comes the chant of the monks:
Requiem eternam dona eis, Domine et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Luigi. For me it is no longer my life blood Beating within my pulses; it is you. The very green and gold threads of your gown Have woven finest meshes in my brain. Oh, tell me once again before you go That you do love me, and I will believe!
Vittoria. You ask me that? But fourteen days ago I had not seen you, Now, in all the world Is naught but you. The sunshine on the grass, The long, green hillside slopes where peach-trees bloom, The music that finds out I know not what Unknown recesses of my soul, and hurts— All, all is you! I cannot grasp my joy, So great it is, as it comes beating in Upon my heart, like tide-beats in the sea.
Luigi (bending to kiss the hem of her dress). I am unworthy—I!
Vittoria.am unworthy—I!Nay, nay, not you! An ignorant and uninstructed girl, Lo, what am I, that a great heart like yours Should come to rest on mine? But take me, all, You who are strong and wise, for utterly I give myself, and there is nothing left. Make of me what you will.
[Again come the requiem, dying in: Requiescat in pace. Amen. Amen.
[Luigi shivers.
Vittoria. And you, too, are afraid?
Luigi.And you, too, are afraid?Through love comes fear. Yet what is there in all the world to dread When you and I love thus?
Vittoria. you and I love thus?One thing alone In this great safety of your presence I Think of with fear: that you should go away, That any time I might not see your face. Dear one, you will not, even for a day, Let life be as it was before?
Luigi.life be as it was before?I swear No sun by day nor thousand stars by night Shall find me anywhere but at your side. My love shall be the shade that every day Keeps the heat from you; it shall be each night A cover from the cold. So, hand in hand, We shall go on forever, with our feet Keeping one time along the selfsame road.
[A voice comes from the chapel: Memento mei, Domine, quia ventus est vita mea.. . .
Homo natus de muliere, brevi vivens tempore, repletur multis miseriis. Qui quasi flos egreditur, et conteritur, et fugit velut umbra, et nunguam in eodem statu permanet.
Vittoria. Tell me, what does it mean?
Luigi (Passionately, his voice rising to a cry).. It means that love, Love only, lasts forever, eternal, Unchangeable, triumphant over chance.
ACT IV
Scene I.—Frate Giacomo walks in the cloister before the open chapel door. He forgets his prayers, but goes on counting his beads.
Frate Giacomo. They kneel before the altar, their heads bowed— I see them where the holy candles make A little light in the surrounding gloom, Our Father Ambrose, clad in robe and stole, Reads over them the marriage service. Here It never yet has sounded. Hark, they speak! “Volo” the young man says, and “Volo” comes The woman’s softer voice. Who, what are they That they should utter in these sacred walls The unknown word “desire”?
[The sound of chanted prayer and response comes to him. He strains his ears.
Oh, what a change Is wrought here! Great the shock that has been given! Just as before a storm the air is full Of dull foreboding, my soul waits in fear Of what may come, for they are living still Where things may happen, and they have no right In this our foretaste of eternal life Whose peace they have disturbed.
[There is a sudden burst of music, then, in the full triumph of many voices:
Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison! Kyrie Eleison.
Frate Giacomo.Christe Eleison!God pity those Who have no walls to shut temptation out. [The music of the processional begins. Ah, here they come, the lovers hand in hand, One flush upon both faces; after them The white-haired father, aged, but with eyes Still fierce with love and pain. I go to pray.
Pater noster, ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nosa malo. Amen. Amen.
Scene II.—Outside the chapel.
Vittoria. Only a little way, dear father, then Like two good children we will turn again Without a word toward home. May we not come?
Father. Your marriage garment, daughter, is too white For the long dusty way.
Vittoria.long dusty way.That can be changed! One moment only and I come in blue Already dusty from the blessed road That led us here.
Father.lead us here. Few minutes have I left To linger, dear one. My command is stern——
Vittoria. We will not trouble you along the way Nor ask you why you go, nor beg to come Unto the city, since you tell us nay. Let us go with you to the great white cliff— Only so far!
Father (smiling). Then you will wish to see The next cliff and the next!
Vittoria.next cliff and the next! I promise, no! For all my wandering shall I find an end At the white cliff.
[She puts her arms around her father's neck and whispers:
Such utter happiness Is mine I cannot bear it! Let me share, If but an hour, my great joy with you. It is for this, this only I would go. A single shadow dims the sun for me— This undreamed gladness is not wholly yours As it is mine. Dear, did you ever know Content like this?
Father (putting his finger on her lip). Hush! hush! If you must go Make ready in all haste. (To himself.) She springs away Loosening her golden girdle as she moves. Oh, may the radiance upon her face Shine throughout life undimmed! My little one! Alone, from you to the great mystery I go, not to return. Never again Shall I behold your face, above all else Beloved, save only hers, the unforgotten, Unforgettable!
Scene III.—The road toward the city. Vittoria rides between her father and her lover. The servants are behind.
Vittoria (gayly). The yellow butterflies show us the way! So with you two I could ride endlessly, The fresh wind in our faces, and ahead This road between the green hills and the sea.
Father. When you are old, bambina, you will wish Sometimes to stop and rest.
Vittoriatimes to stop and rest. When we are old! We shall be old together, old and glad— Three white heads nodding early off to sleep! When will the wrinkles come? “Too soon,” you say, “And youth is short?” Then age is very long, But love is longest, surely. You must rest: The sun is growing warm. At the last bend I saw the great white cliff, straight as a line Dropped from a blue sky to a bluer sea, There we shall stop, and you shall go to sleep In some deep shadow, while we sit near by Making our plans for all the days to come. Soon you return to us, and I shall hear Some day a knocking at the convent gate. How I shall listen for it! Then we go Back to our villa. Till I see again The old familiar things, I shall not know My blessedness. The dial in the grass, The cypress shade must measure it for me, And all the waves must tell it. Dear, my lord, [She touches her lover's arm. I want old places round me once again. Life is too sacred for the new.
Luigi (looking at the father with eyes of pity). Life is too sacred for the new. We go Beloved, to your villa. May our life Beat on like music, pealing strong between The murmur of the fountain and the sea.
Vittoria (laughing). We shall be blessèd. Now the footstep comes For which I watched, not knowing, and shall fall Upon our floor. Soon shall the wine be poured In three slim glasses, not again in two; For three the bread be broken; three carved chairs Stand by the table. Wishing no least thing, We shall go on forever. Now I wait To ask Teresa of the tapestry That shall be hung in your apartment, sir. [She turns back.
Father. Your eyes still beg for sacrifice, my son. It may not be! The bitterness of death Already you have taken. When I see Unshadowed in my daughter’s eyes the love That you have lighted, I go on content. May I but stand at my cathedral gate, And have, from out the numbered minutes left Of this my life, but time enough to speak!
Luigi. “My heart is full of sadness for you, sir, And full of fear for her. We journey on Toward a plague-stricken city. Death may pass At any minute. Walking carelessly Along the green grass here she may look up To see some face borne past. How can I then Fulfil my trust ?
Father (thinking). It may come first to her: Not knowing, she may meet the enemy And greet him gladly, as one greets a friend. Oh, they are happy who thus touch his hand Ere it is laid on the belovèd!
Luigi.it is laid on the belovèd!Yet The risk?
Father. My son, I know not what to say. In the great shadow of approaching change This old world startles me as one new-made. I doubt where I was sure, and what was doubt Seems trembling into hope. Blindly, perhaps, Have I done wrong? Had she a right to know The secret?
Luigi.secret? It may be.
Father.secret? It may be. Your smile is sad. If I should tell her now, before I go—? Should make her understand, if one may know Who has not seen——
Luigi (hastily). Tell her, but not to-day! Her wedding-day must keep her as she was. I could not have her change, not by one shade Of color in her cheek or difference Of thought in her dear eyes.
Father.thought in her dear eyes. No, not to-day! It is enough, if, in the danger here We meet the unknown thing, to tell her then. At the first sight she has of death we speak— All that we know.
ACT V
Scene I.—The roadside, near the white cliff. The father, who has been sleeping in the deep shadow of the ilex-trees, wakens and rubs his eyes. Teresa sits near.
Father. I have been long asleep?
Teresa.I have been long asleep?Sir, it was noon When we dismounted. Now the sun is low.
Father. Then precious hours are wasted, when I had No minute’s time to lose! Where is my child? Teresa, where my son?
Teresa.Teresa, where my son?I cannot tell. Some hours ago they went to climb the cliff Where it is highest. Me they told to watch Here by your side. Long has your slumber been And they have not returned. But they are young, And time goes swiftly on one’s wedding-day.
Father. Why came they not to waken me? They knew, They knew, and why did they forget? Too late Will be my going hence, and I shall die With my last message smouldering on my lips, Like fire in burnt-out ashes. O my dear, My little daughter! Give me yet one kiss, One last good-night to sweeten my long sleep! Thou who didst make one life so hard a thing In the stern face of duty, grant me now, Out of the endless nothingness to be, One short half-hour of my daughter’s face!
Scene II.—On the rocks, halfway down the side of the cliff.
Father. I clamber up and down the rocks, and yet I find them not. Upon these jagged stones Garments and hands are torn. No path is here To guide my foot, and all my strength is spent. Ah, do I see them? There my daughter kneels Beside her lover, on a ledge of rock: His face is toward the sky. Hasten, O foot, And trembling, weak old hands! How her eyes shine As with some new-found joy!
Vittoria.some new-foundHush, father, hush! Do not disturb him! For an hour’s time He has not stirred.
The father throws himself upon his knees at his daughter’s side.
Father.not stirred.Forehead and hands are cold, And the heart beats not: O my God! my God! Horror of death is here! Was it for this The work of all my life was spent, that she Should find this cruel message written first Upon the face most loved? My life’s great grief But still more cruel have I wrought for her. Oh, mine the sin! She hears and heeds me not.
Vittoria. Is he not wonderful? Look, padre, look! For he is thinking. Always when he thinks He is more beautiful. Now, I can see, He meditates some thought profounder still. I never yet have seen his face so fair. Oh, he is wise, my scholar! Do you think, When his eyes open and he tells me all, Then I can understand?
Father.Then I can understand?How came he here, And you?
Vittoria. His foot slipped yonder at the top; I searched a long time ere I found him here. I called; he did not answer, but I know This is so sweet and still a place to think, He simply did not hear.
Father (moaning). All my life long T have been building. Who, who has destroyed? Only a moment, and a quick misstep! O ye above, who play the game of chance Wherein our lives are staked, win, win someone, That we may know the end! Noble he was And young:—was not that cause for death? Because he was beloved he had to die! How can I tell her now?
Vittoria.can I tell her now?Dear father, say What is this terrible new beauty? I Dare not to touch his forehead with my lips Till his eyes open or his fingers stir.
Father. O poveretta! The fingers will not stir; The eyes will never open: this is death.
Vittoria. Death? Is he not my lover? What is death? I must be stupid not to understand. Is he not he, and can he cease to care?
Father. Sweet, my old heart breaks; can I make you know? Bound hand and foot he lies. He cannot move; He will not waken even to speak your name. Waiting forever, you would never see The eyelids quiver. All you know and loved Stops, and exists no more, It comes to all: We are but dust that crumbles in the way, The clod from which the grass and violets grow.
Vittoria. How radiant his face is!—Comes to all? We stop and crumble?—But I never knew.
Father. I tried to shield you, dear; and no one knows, For all is mystery. We only see The breath dies softly, like a little wind That does not rise again. A swift disease, A sudden fall into the water here, And what was you or I is nothingness.
Vittoria. This is not dust, but glory! See, I bend And kiss the face grown wonderful and strange, But mine, mine, mine! My father, do not say That he can cease to be. As a mere child, Untouched and ignorant, I might have learned Such words by rote. I am a woman now, Who lives and loves, and some great certainty Is mine, beyond all teaching. There is now Nothing within me able to learn aught Of that which you call death.
Father.Of that which you call death.Bambina mia, Many there are, and he was of them, so I tell you for his sake—many who hold That death is not an end, but only birth Into some life beyond, immortal, great, And infinite in meaning; that this dust, Sown in corruption, quickens into life Somewhere beyond our ken. I—believe not! They talk of an eternity of love, But they know nothing. How her eyes are fixed Upon his face!
Vittoria.his face!That was the reason, then, He bore the look of one who understands, His eyes more wise than ours, full of love Immortal, infinitely great. Father, You knew? And yet you shut away from me, For all these many years, this greater hope? Oh, till he came, the sky has seemed so near, And life so little, with no farther reach Than daily custom, endlessly the same! How, having known this once, could you shrink back To smaller measure? For to grasp one thought So great is knowledge.
Father.great is knowledge. How her eyes scorn me!
Vittoria. Padre, forgive, forgive! Of each white hair I beg forgetfulness for my quick words. Life has so suddenly grown great that I Have lost my way therein. What I have learned In the deep silence round him through this hour Nothing can take away.
Father.can take away. Her body glows As with some knowledge shining through, and she Seems not to know the very use of tears. When will she learn her loss? Child of my heart, I too must leave you now, not to return: Great service draws me, and my death is near: I may not stay to share this bitter grief. Most cruel has this hour been to you, But, living in the villa by the sea, May the years teach you that the hand that struck Wounded in vain attempt to save. Farewell! I would have spared you sorrow like my own!
Vittoria (kissing his hand). Father, you, too? What is this secret, then, That you, my best-beloved, share, while I Am shut outside? Into the glory you Follow his footsteps, leaving me behind. Oh, it means change and splendor; and the thought Of hidden beauty waiting to be won Quickens my pulse. My heart has never stirred So with a sense of great approach.
Father.with a sense of great approach. Farewell! Go to Teresa, dear, and you are safe. [He speaks to himself as he moves away. Even yet I fear she has no slightest sense Of that which parting means. God, art thou there? Watch over her when I may watch no more!
Vittoria (watching, as he scales the cliff). The poor frail hands can hardly keep their grasp To aid the weary climbing, step by step. When in that wrinkled face the great light breaks That he calls death, I would that I might see! [Her eyes follow him until he disappears; then she turns to her lover. Dearest, I take you in my arms again. See, here I kiss your hair, and here your sleeve, And then your eyelids. You would have it so That my first kiss must fall upon your eyes: So shall the last. Never were you my own So much as now. I did not know you then! This is a beauty that you did not have Back in the garden, even the first time You said you loved me. In the quiet here There lingers something that I would not change For all the sunshine and the words of love, Thrilled through with scent of roses. Here I cross Your hands upon your breast. I hunger, dear, For this eternity enfolding you. A fall from off the cliff, my father said, Will fashion me like this. My life leaps up Exultingly to meet this joy of death. The silences shall not be silence now! [She bends once more over the dead face. I follow where you lead. [She springs from the cliff.
