ROME.--A Lady's Apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden.
LALAGE, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and
a hand-mirror. In the background JACINTA (a servant maid) leans
carelessly upon a chair.
_Lalage_. Jacinta! is it thou?
_Jacinta
(pertly_). Yes, ma'am, I'm here.
_Lal_. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.
Sit down!--let not my presence trouble you--
Sit down!--for I am humble, most humble.
_Jac. (aside_). 'Tis time.
(_Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting
her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous
look. Lalage continues to read._)
_Lal_. "It in another climate, so he said,
Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!"
(_pauses--turns over some leaves and resumes_.)
"No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower--
But Ocean ever to refresh mankind
Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind"
Oh, beautiful!--most beautiful!--how like
To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!
O happy land! (_pauses_) She died!--the maiden died!
O still more happy maiden who couldst die!
Jacinta!
(_Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes_.)
Again!--a similar tale
Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!
Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play--
"She died full young"--one Bossola answers him--
"I think not so--her infelicity
Seemed to have years too many"--Ah, luckless lady!
Jacinta! (_still no answer_.)
Here's a far sterner story--
But like--oh, very like in its despair--
Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily
A thousand hearts--losing at length her own.
She died. Thus endeth the history--and her maids
Lean over her and keep--two gentle maids
With gentle names--Eiros and Charmion!
Rainbow and Dove!--Jacinta!
_Jac_.
(_pettishly_). Madam, what is it?
_Lal_. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind
As go down in the library and bring me
The Holy Evangelists?
_Jac_. Pshaw!
(_Exit_)
_Lal_. If there be balm
For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there!
Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found--"dew sweeter far than that
Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill."
(_re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table_.)
There, ma'am, 's the book.
(_aside_.) Indeed she is very troublesome.
_Lal_.
(_astonished_). What didst thou say, Jacinta?
Have I done aught
To grieve thee or to vex thee?--I am sorry.
For thou hast served me long and ever been
Trustworthy and respectful.
(_resumes her reading_.)
_Jac_. (_aside_.) I can't believe
She has any more jewels--no--no--she gave me all.
_Lal_. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me
Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.
How fares good Ugo?--and when is it to be?
Can I do aught?--is there no further aid
Thou needest, Jacinta?
_Jac_. (_aside_.) Is there no _further_ aid!
That's meant for me. I'm sure, madam, you need not
Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.
_Lal_. Jewels! Jacinta,--now indeed, Jacinta,
I thought not of the jewels.
_Jac_. Oh, perhaps not!
But then I might have sworn it. After all,
There's Ugo says the ring is only paste,
For he's sure the Count Castiglione never
Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I'm certain, madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels _now_. But I might have sworn it.
(_Exit_)
(_Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table--after a
short pause raises it_.)
_Lal_. Poor Lalage!--and is it come to this?
Thy servant maid!--but courage!--'tis but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!
(_taking up the mirror_)
Ha! here at least's a friend--too much a friend
In earlier days--a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale--a pretty tale--and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And beauty long deceased--remembers me,
Of Joy departed--Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed!--now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true!--thou liest not!
_Thou_ hast no end to gain--no heart to break--
Castiglione lied who said he loved----
Thou true--he false!--false!--false!
(_While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment and approaches
unobserved_)
_Monk_. Refuge thou hast,
Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!
_Lal.
(arising hurriedly_). I _cannot_ pray!--My soul is at war with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below;
Disturb my senses--go! I cannot pray--
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!
Thy presence grieves me--go!--thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread--thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!
_Monk_. Think of thy precious soul!
_Lal_. Think of my early days!--think of my father
And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters!--think of them!
And think of me!--think of my trusting love
And confidence--his vows--my ruin--think--think
Of my unspeakable misery!----begone!
Yet stay! yet stay!--what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith
And vows before the throne?
_Monk_. I did.
_Lal_. 'Tis well.
There _is_ a vow 'twere fitting should be made--
A sacred vow, imperative and urgent,
A solemn vow!
_Monk_. Daughter, this zeal is well!
_Lal_. Father, this zeal is anything but well!
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?
A crucifix whereon to register
This sacred vow? (_he hands her his own_.)
Not that--Oh! no!--no!--no (_shuddering_.)
Not that! Not that!--I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,--
_I_ have a crucifix! Methinks 'twere fitting
The deed--the vow--the symbol of the deed--
And the deed's register should tally, father!
(_draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high_.)
Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine
Is written in heaven!
_Monk_. Thy words are madness, daughter,
And speak a purpose unholy--thy lips are livid--
Thine eyes are wild--tempt not the wrath divine!
Pause ere too late!--oh, be not--be not rash!
Swear not the oath--oh, swear it not!
_Lal_. 'Tis sworn!