Vittoria
503
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.
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.
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?
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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
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?
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?
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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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,
He bore the look of one who understands,
His eyes more wise than ours, full of love
Immortal, infinitely great. Father,
