+Characters+: +Da Vinci+ _the artist and his sitter_ +Mona Lisa+.
_The scene presents a section of the artist’s studio in Florence
in the first years of the sixteenth century. At the back,
which is open, one sees a balcony, and beyond this the sky of
late afternoon, gradually fading to a mellow twilight. Plants,
flowers, statues, give the place a festive air. In the centre
is a plain, dark screen, in which has been cut a frame-like
opening. Behind this sits_ +Mona Lisa+, _a young woman in the
early twenties, in the picture-attitude. Well down to one side,
at his easel, is_ +Da Vinci+, _a handsome man between forty and
fifty, in rose-colored coat, and black cap from beneath which
flow his dark curling locks, absorbed in his work. Before the
curtains part, and for a minute or so after, men’s voices to the
accompaniment of a lute are heard singing_:
_From a country far I came.
Strange the hap!
Ask not its name,
Place on the map!_
_But my heart beyond the sea
Knew your welcome waited me!_
_Such a little while--
Tear, song, and sigh,
Twilight and a woman’s smile,
You and I!_
+Mona Lisa.+
[_As the song ends, with a sigh of rapture._]
O strain divine! Ferarra’s music set
With lyric words befitting!
What means it all? Twin spirits met
Only to part, parting to meet again ...
Like yonder crystal globes that play
At hide-and-seek beneath the fountain’s spray;
[_Pointing to one side where a fountain is supposed to be._]
As pain mocks pleasure, sunbeams conquer rain!
Master!
[_With sudden contrition._]
I spoil the sitting!
A thousand pardons. I’ll keep still.
+Da Vinci.+
Not so, Madonna. Speak and move at will,
The background while I sketch.
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Rising, comes from behind the screen._]
Background, in sooth!
[_Leaning on the balcony, she looks over, then turns to him._]
Below, a tempting parquet,
Lies Florence, jewel-bright with youth,
And all the singing pageantry of life!
From which I fain must turn to face
In fancy, what?
[_Indicating the front, as if it were a wall on which her dreams
were visualized during her sittings._]
+Da Vinci.+
Your home.
+Mona Lisa.+
Sole resting place
For fancy?
+Da Vinci.+
[_With conviction._]
Aye, Madonna, when a wife....
Unless ’twere mass or market!
+Mona Lisa.+
[_With a half-smile and a half-sigh, going to a mirror and
contemplating her reflection._]
Poor Mona Lisa! Such reply
Might give Giocondo ... he whose third am I!
[_After a slight pause she approaches_ +Da Vinci+, _who is busily
at work._]
Ser Leonardo, is, as men aver,
Art so to you a cloister
No woman boasts your love for her?
+Da Vinci.+
[_Smiles, and pauses a minute before answering._]
Once on a time, a crab, all craft and claw,
Wooed shellfish with crustacean wile.
Then, through the flattered fool’s wide-open smile,
Plucked out its heart! The moral, pray you, draw!
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Laughs, but slightly ruefully._]
Crab I; you no such oyster!
[_Da Vinci nods a smiling assent. Again she speaks, but this time
seriously._]
Is art love’s foe, then?
+Da Vinci.+
[_With a gesture renouncing the issue._]
Who can tell
If spark shall kindle altar-flame, or hell?
[_The lady nods, as if to say, “I see your point-of-view, though
without binding myself to share it!” and moves about the room,
occupying herself with the flowers. Going behind the artist,
she showers a handful of petals over him. Looking up_, +Da
Vinci+ _invites her attention to his work._]
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Exclaims, and claps her hands delightedly._]
’Tis wondrous strange: when to be painted, first
My good Giocondo brought me,
Strained glance and formal mien rehearsed,
Prim folded hands ... like this!
[_Illustrating._]
Self-conscious smirk
As one who from her frame cries, “See!
“The great Da Vinci’s self hath painted me!”
I deemed my sitter’s tribute to your work!
But these four years have taught me...!
+Da Vinci.+
[_Completing her thought._]
From fragment mood one gleans the whole;
Portrays, less hand, eye, smiling lip, than soul!
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Reflecting on this, speaks with some bitterness._]
The soul! A human soul! Poor wanton thing!
Sport of your beck and bribing!
Thus wide its prison-doors you fling
For thrush, caged swallow, ransomed from the mart ...
Through pity of its lonely note?
Ah, no! Cold-blood, by rule to test, and rote,
Dipped wing and balanced muscle for your Art!
[_She moves away._]
+Da Vinci.+
[_Has uttered a protesting “Oh, oh!” He now explains._]
That’s Buonarotti’s gibing!
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Earnestly; completing her analogy._]
Master, to bird or soul such flight
Spells--
+Da Vinci.+
Freedom!
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Shakes her head mournfully._]
Song-void days, and mateless night!
+Da Vinci.+
[_After a slight pause, picks up his brush again._]
Come; sit, Madonna, for the last time!
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Turns on him with a startled exclamation, then forces herself
to speak calmly._]
Done,
My portrait, then?
+Da Vinci.+
[_Bows affirmatively._]
The features.
Poised, Sphinx-wise, twixt coquette and nun,
Ever your smile eludes....
+Mona Lisa.+
Painter, or man?
+Da Vinci.+
[_Shrugs shoulders._]
Ask Time, artist whose master-skill
Puts the transcending touch! Unfinished, still
Divine, so bides my Christ-face at Milan!
+Mona Lisa.+
And I, least of His creatures,
Bide ... how?
+Da Vinci.+
Divine, grace of Art’s brush,
Or.... Choose! Woman by love revealed!
[_Throwing aside his brush, he strides a step or so toward her,
then stands with extended arms, awaiting her choice._]
+Mona Lisa.+
[_Exclaims, shocked at the crisis she herself has invited._]
Oh! Hush!
[_Picking up the artist’s brush, she puts it into his hand,
then quietly resumes her place behind the screen._ +Da Vinci+
_bows, resigning himself to her decision, and goes back to his
place, first, with a wave of his hand, giving a signal to the
musicians, who would seem to be in a gallery to one side, but
unseen by the spectator. Again the music sounds, men’s voices
accompanied by the lute, very softly and finally dying away._
+Mona Lisa+ _glances now and then wistfully at_ +Da Vinci+,
_but he soon becomes wholly engrossed with his work, as if no
emotional passage between them had occurred. At last, with a
slight sigh of final renunciation, she composes her features
to her inscrutable half-smile as she gazes steadfastly on an
imaginary world. And so are the curtains drawn upon the scene._]
_To my country far I wend
Home my way,
While shadows blend
Darkness with day._
_Throat of thrush and swallow’s wing
Tidings of me still may bring!_
_Oh, such short-lived bliss:
Tear, song, and sigh,
Starlight, and a lover’s kiss.
Then, Good-bye!_