VIOLANTE [_coldly_]
What has all this to do with me?
[_Relapsing into forgetful eagerness._]
Tell me, where, then, is his Olivia now?
LIZZIA
The Plague! He gave her to a doctor"s care, Beggaring himself therefor, as one who loves!
VIOLANTE
And now he shuts himself away for grief Because she died!... But, if she be dead, Wherefore these garlands?-- Or does he think she will come back, alive?
LIZZIA
The learned doctor swears if she survives Three days, she shall not die.
VIOLANTE
Not die, in sooth!
Who is this man who resurrects the Dead?
Why, folk whose nerves and sinews sing with life Sicken, fall down, and seethe with death and worms Within an hour, and they, the few who live, Living, curse G.o.d because they did not die....
He would best think of the Living, and forget The Dead.
LIZZIA
Half-crazed with love, he dreams she will return....
This is the morning after the third day-- This is the very hour she would return.
Suppose the learned doctor keep his word?-- Hence have I hung these garlands.
[_The sounds of a funeral procession heard approaching.... The procession pa.s.ses the large doorway, going by, along the street, without. The people bear candles.... They pa.s.s slowly by the open door ... bodies being carried in shrouds._]
ONE VOICE
We bore the son ... and now we bear the father....
ANOTHER VOICE
And I or you, mayhap, will be the next.
LIZZIA [_continuing_]
These wreaths, they seem a mockery of Heaven.
I pray that G.o.d will smite me not--I do What I am bid!...
VIOLANTE [_half to herself_]
She will not come!...
[_To Lizzia_]
Is there nothing will cure his madness?
LIZZIA
Even if she die they are to bring her hither....
VIOLANTE
Hither? And all corrupt? Then Death will strike you both!
LIZZIA
Lady, I am so old I"d rather sleep Than walk this sinful, weary world; and be-- He will unshroud her, kiss her lips, and die!
VIOLANTE [_with great bitterness_]
Fie, this our Florio--he has loved before, And he will love again, and yet again....
Women"s beauty he loves, not any woman!
LIZZIA
What you have said were true ten days ago-- Do I not know him, Lady?... But a change Has come upon him that I marvel at-- So great a change in such a little while....
Ah, looked you on them when they were together, Saw you how he is caught up in her face And all the beauty of her, you would say "Here is a love, at last, that climbs from earth to heaven!"
VIOLANTE [_laughing harshly_]
It is her beauty he loved; not she The thing he loved! A poet, he!...
[_A pause._]
It were as well you tore these garlands down: If, by a miracle, she should return, The Plague will have marked her with such ugliness That even you will shine like Helen of Troy beside her!
Much will he care, then, if she sing his songs!
Had she a voice like a garden of nightingales He could not listen to her without loathing....
[_Sounds of approach of another funeral procession._]