_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 un.o.bserved_)
_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 G.o.d!
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!