Renier. It is! It is!
Yolanda. And—all because I have these days delayed
To wed with Camarin.
Renier. Delayed?
Yolanda. Because
I show befitting shame that I was here
Found in his arms ... when to Amaury
I was betrothed!
Renier. Power of—!—No!
Yolanda. Because
I grieve to leave Lusignan, this my home—
Where I have dwelt as under tented love—
Though I am bidden.
Renier. This can be?
Berengere (faintly). Yolanda!
Renier. I say—only delayed? and you—?
[They have entered.
Ah, it was ruthless, kindless!
Renier. We shall see.
[To Hassan.
I soon may come and seek forgiveness.
Berengere. No!
[Hassan goes.
Long must I lie!...
[He supports her—with Alessa—slowly up steps and off. Yolanda covers her eyes. Hassan returns with Moro, then, and with Amaury, whose look seeks Vittia.
Renier. Yes, Amaury ... you
Are sent for to behold Yolanda wed,
As you commanded,
Here unto Camarin. Shame has till now
Withheld her, but ... what ails you?
Amaury. On; go on.
The sudden blood up to my wounds.
Renier. It has,
I say, withheld her. But she now has chosen.
Amaury. So; and ... it is well. And here are her
Vows I have kept—
[Takes a packet from his breast.
[Hands it; she lets it fall.
Muffle my sword from him that now she weds.
[His voice breaks tonelessly.
Yolanda. Amaury!
Amaury (angrily). Priest, be brief!
Moro (before them; as Camarin takes Yolanda's hand).
The Church invests me, and the powers of
This island, here to make you man and wife.
Be joined, ye who have sinned,
In soul, peace and repentances for ever.
[He signs the cross. Yolanda stands dazed. A silence. Then a shuddering cry and all turn toward the balcony, where Alessa bursts, pale and wild and striving to speak.
Alessa. Lady Yolanda! you have wed him?
Alessa. Lady Berengere is dead.
Yolanda. No!... No!
[Chokes rebelliously.
And tell her I have wed him! mother! cannot!
[Goes trembling, belieflessly, up the balcony. A strange doubt seizes Amaury. On the rest is silence, consternation, and fear.
Curtain
ACT IV
Scene: The Chapel of the Castle—or Chapel of the Magdalen—a few hours later. It is of stone, low-arched, gloomy, and adorned with Byzantine mosaics of gaunt saints on backgrounds of gold. The altar is in the rear, and above it a large window, through which pours the still moon. In front of it, to either side, rise two pillars supporting the roof, and on one of them, halfway up, stands a stone image of the Magdalen. Forward are two other pillars whose bases form seats. The right wall has, set midway, a large door hung with heavy curtains. In the rear are smaller doors leading to a sacristy. The altar lamp and a few tapers burn. Alessa enters, rubbing her eyes as if to clear them of vision, looks around, then calls uncertainly—
[Rubs her eyes again.
It is as if her spirit still imprisoned
Hovered beneath the pallor of her face
And strove to speak. Good father!
[Enter Moro.
There in the sacristy.
Moro. Yes, Your desire?
Alessa. The acolytes summoned from Famagouste
To aid your rites before her burial
Have come, and wait.
Moro. Send hither two.
[Looks closely at her.
[Is going. He stops her.
Some question. Do you understand this wedding?
The evil that has risen in this house?
Do you?
Alessa. I may not speak.
Moro. And wherefore may not?
Alessa. I may not. It is best.
Moro. As says Yolanda,
Who is to-day impenetrable in all.
But who, now, in a lofty grief above
The misery that blasted her, seems calm,
And answers only,—
"God in His season will,
I trust, unfold it soon; I cannot, now!" ...
And yet I heard
Her darkly bid the Paphian be gone——
From here—without her.
Alessa. And he would not?
Alessa. The acolytes
Are waiting.
Moro. Go.... But if this hour brings forth
What you shall rue——
Alessa. Father!
[Goes quickly, troubled.
For Vittia Pisani, who alone
Seems with these twain to share this mystery
Is silent to all importunity.
Oh, Berengere Lusignan!—
But, 'tis mine
To pray and to prepare. (Listens.) The acolytes.
[Two enter, sleek, sanctimonious.
Of the Ascension. You?
2nd Acolyte. Hilarion.
From Santa Maria by the Templars' well,
Which God looks on with gratitude, father.
For though we're poor and are unworthy servants
We've given willingly our widow's mite.
And now we....
Moro. You are summoned to this place
For ministrations other than the tongue's.
Prepare that altar—masses for the dead.
Hilarion. Man is as grass that withers!
Moro. Kindle all
Its tapers. The departed will be borne
Hither for holy care and sacred rest.
So do—then after
Look to that image of the Magdalen,
Once it has fallen.
Serlio. Domine, dirige!
[Moro goes. They put off cant and set to work.
We'll have good wine for this!
Serlio. The Chian! Hee!
None's like the Chian! and to-morrow, meat!
Last week old Ugo died and we had pheasant.
Serlio. And supped!
Though 'tis a Friday and the Pope is dead!
[Silence. They work faster.
[Mounts pillar.
Olympio, the cock who fetched us, said
That image fell first on the day——
Hilarion. Tchuck! tchuck!
Better no breath about that lord of Paphos,
Or any here. For till the dead are three
Days gone, you know—! But there's the woman. Feign.
[As Alessa re-enters; hypocritically.
They briefly bide.
Serlio. Aye! aye!
Alessa (still troubled). What say you?
Hilarion. Ah!
I lay that it is wiser never to foul
The dead, even in thinking,
For they may hear us, none can say, and once
My mother saw a dead man who had gone
Unshriven start up white and cry out loud
When he was curst.
Serlio. O Lord!
Alessa (staring). No!... Well, such things
There are perchance. And now they say that Venus,
The Anadyomene, who once ruled this isle,
Is come again.... But you have finished? Soon
They bring her body here.
Hilarion. Now have I, now!
It will not totter again.
[Descends.
Upon the head of——(catches herself; calmly) You are awaited
There in the sacristy.... The chant begins!
[The acolytes go. She grows more disquieted.
[Goes to door and draws them back. As she does so the chant swells louder. Then the cortège enters—Moro, the acolytes with tapers; Berengere on a litter, Amaury, Renier, Vittia, the women, Hassan, and last Yolanda. The litter, Amaury by it, comes to the altar; the chanting ceases.
No moan or any toil of grief be here
Where we have brought her for sainted appeal.
But in this holy place until the tomb
Let her find rest.
Amaury. Set down the bier.
[It is placed.
[Turning; brokenly.
Low to this couch, be never ease again.
To any who have put thy life out, never!
But in them be the burning that has seemed
To shrivel thee—whether with pain or fear!
And be appeaseless tears,
Salt tears that rust the fountain of the heart.
[Sinks to a seat. A pause.
Amaury (up again). To the relentless!
Moro. God hear you not!
Amaury. Then is He not my God.
Moro. Enough, enough. (To the rest.) But go and for her soul
Freight all of you this tide of night with prayer.
Amaury. Never!
Moro. I bid.
[Looking at Yolanda.
Yolanda. It is well.
Amaury. Not one.
Yolanda. Then, mother——
[Goes to bier.
Yolanda. While I have breath.
[Fixedly.
Only the pale archangels may endure
Trembling to muse on!
Or though yon image of the Magdalen.
Whose alabaster broke amid her tears
And her torn hair, forbade me with a voice.
And you, whose heart is shaken
As in a tomb a taper's flame, would know
I speak with love.
Camarin. Unswerving love.
Amaury. Then, by
Christ, and the world that craves His blood, I think
She, if she would, or you, could point to me,
Or you, Vittia Pisani,
The reason of this sudden piteous death
Hard on the haunted flight before my father,
Whose lips refuse.
Camarin. She knows no shred of it.
Amaury. You lie to say it.
Camarin. Then will, still—if there
Is need.
Amaury. Because you love her?
Yolanda. Peace, peace, peace.
Amaury. A hollow word for what had never being.
Yolanda. Look on her face and see.
Amaury (at bier). Upon her face!
Where not oblivion the void of death
Has hid away, or can, the agony
Of her last terror—but it trembles still.
I tell you, no. Grief was enough, but now
Through it has risen mystery that chokes
As a miasma from Iscariot's tomb.
And till this pall of doubt be rent away
No earth shall fall and quicken with her dust!
But I will search her face ... till it reveals.
Camarin. He raves.
Amaury. Iscariot! yes!
Yolanda. Again, peace, peace!
Amaury. That you may palter!
Yolanda (gently). That she may not grieve.
[Goes again to bier.
Near! would it were to hear me and impart
Its yearning and regret to us who live,
Its dim unhappiness and hollow want.
Yes, mother, were you now about us, vain,
Invisible and without any voice
To tell us of you!
Were you and now could hear through what of cold
Or silence wrap you, oh, so humanly,
And seeming but a veil—
Then would you hear me say—
[Suddenly aghast.
Amaury. Yolanda!
[She starts back from the bier.
Renier. Girl, what rends you?
Yolanda. Saw you not?
[Rushes to bier and shakes it.
Renier. Girl!
Yolanda. She breathes!
[Consternation. Some fall to their knees.
Yolanda. Mother! Her breast! Mother! She moves!
Amaury. God! God!
Yolanda. Stand off from her.... Mother!
Yolanda. Mother!...
Amaury. See; her lips!
They strive to speak! O faintly. O so faint!
Can you not hear?
Berengere. Yolanda!
Yolanda. Mother!
Berengere. Renier!
Renier. Yes, yes?
Berengere. Yolanda—
Renier. Speak!
Berengere. Christ, save me ... Christ!
Yolanda's innocent, and I ... 'twas I.
Amaury. What? what is it she says?
Berengere. Camarin! Ah!
[She shudders and dies, amid low uttered awe. Renier bends, lays his hand a moment on her breast, then, with a cry of rage, springs from her and draws, and rushes on Camarin, who awaits him, desperate.
Yolanda. Amaury, in!
Compel lord Renier back! he cannot live,
You only could against Camarin now!
Wait not to question, but obey me! if—
You ever—! (as he rushes in) Holy Magdalen, defend him!
[Renier falls back.
Thou'rt vowed in heaven.
Vittia. Fool!... Camarin, strike!
Yolanda. He's wounded!
Camarin. Oh!... Berengere! ... treachery!
[He staggers and sinks back heavily toward the pillar. There is breathless, strained suspense. Then the image above, unsettled and shaken by his fall, sways, totters and crushes upon him. A cry, "The Magdalen!" goes up around.
Alessa. The Magdalen!
Hassan. No breath in him.
[A pause.
Bear him without then ever from this place,
That never more shall know a holy rite—
And from these gates, I care not to what tomb.
[To Amaury.
That still as a madness measures to your sight.
Bear him without.
[The limp body is borne away. All follow but Amaury, Yolanda, Renier.
But with exalted pride and happy tears;
Then come obliteration!
Speak, girl ... Nobility
Had never better title to its truth.
[Kisses her hand and goes.
Yolanda. Amaury——
Amaury. O pause not!
Yolanda. Then—to save her who's dead—from death and shame,
I took her place within the Paphian's arms.
Amaury. O! ... and by me, driven by me, bore this?
[Overcome.
Yolanda. For you!—and her who sleeps forgiven there.
[Raptly.
Night, to that Throne whose seeing heals all shame!
For her I did! but oh, for you, whose least
Murmur to me is infinite with Spring,
Whose smile is light, filling the air with dawn,
Whose touch, wafture of immortality
Unto my weariness; and whose eyes, now,
Are as the beams God lifted first, they tell us,
Over the uncreated,
In the far singing mother-dawn of the world!—
Come with me then, but tearless, to her side.
[They go to the bier and stand as in a dream. A pause, then her lips move, last, as if inspired.
Pity should be as strong as love or death!
[With a cry of joy he enfolds her, and they kneel, wrapped about with the clear moon.
THE END