ACT III

SCENE--_PAULO’S studio in Venice. A bare room of obvious poverty. PAULO painting at a large canvas._

(_Enter Lucia._)

_Paulo_

(_Turning happily._) Lucia! At last you return. My love, how I have missed you. (_Kisses her._) It seemed so long. (_Examining her._) You are excited! Then my uneasiness was not for nothing. Tell me. An adventure, perhaps? An admirer, _of course_! This flush…! (_Laughs._) Little Child…! (_Teasingly._)

_Lucia_

I’ve been but a short hour, my Paulo. And, as for adventures and admirers, they have but one name--Paulo. (_Looks embarrassed slightly._) How quick you are!

_Paulo_

Love makes me quick. I think I guess.

_Lucia_

(_Ashamed a little._) Listen! (_They listen. The waves of the sea are audible beating against the outer walls._) You hear?

_Paulo_

(_Patiently._) I hear, but I do not understand. It is the water only----

_Lucia_

(_Lower._) The rising water. (_Pauses, while passing hand over her forehead._) Nor do _I_ understand. It is my weakness, I suppose. All women have something that makes them fear without a reason, and this is mine----

_Paulo_

(_Protectively._) For which I love you all the more. For had you reasoned you would not have married me. (_To himself._) Strange, strange.… (_Recovers gaiety and turns to picture._) See how it grows, Lucia. All that I scraped out yesterday I have repainted. Long before the Competition Day I shall have finished it. (_Enthusiastically._) Look!

_Lucia_

The glow, the warmth, the colour--you’ve caught it all?

_Paulo_

I hope so. But when my model _and_ my critic desert me both at once like this----

_Lucia_

Dear Paulo. (_Sighs._) And it’s so difficult for me to make five scudi do the work of ten. (_Shows agitation._) I know, oh, I know. (_Excitement._) Yet somehow, somehow we shall find a way. And it will be wonderful----

_Paulo_

(_Noticing her mood and wondering._) It is you who are wonderful--(_shakes finger at her_) intriguing with Fate as ever----

_Lucia_

(_Quickly._) No, not intriguing. I am but your wife--and model. (_Laughs._)

_Paulo_

And inspiration----

_Lucia_

And critic----

_Paulo_

And manager! That is the wonder--that you who fled with a painter to learn poverty like this (_shows bare room_) and this (_shows clothes_) and this (_touches heart_) should bargain so cleverly in the market-place and carry home our fish and vegetables in your coloured apron--the Lady Lucia, a house-wife of the people!

_Lucia_

Forgetting the wine as usual, and dropping half the fish on my way! (_Seriously._) Love makes it beautiful. It is for love’s sake, Paulo.

_Paulo_

(_Emphatically._) And the work’s sake.

_Lucia_

(_Quickly._) The work, ah yes, the work’s sake. (_Excitedly._) Oh, my Paulo, what would I not do--what would I not sacrifice for your advancement--I mean, for your art, your wonderful great art. (_Confused._)

_Paulo_

(_Quietly._) This shall be our love’s first-fruits (_pointing to canvas_).

_Lucia_

(_Repeats low to herself._) Our love’s first-fruits.

_Paulo_

(_Rapt._) When you and I float over the lagoons as dust upon the wind--(_turns to her from picture, and lowers voice_) when you and I are gone--remembered, perhaps, only as Paulo the painter, and Lucia his inspiration--this beauty--ah, that is my dream--this beauty shall still shine out for the world.

[_They watch the picture for a moment._

_Lucia_

I fear one thing only for you--poverty. You should have _everything_.

_Paulo_

I have. Everything that matters to an artist, and its name is inspiration.

[_Looks with passionate admiration at her._

_Lucia_

(_With growing agitation._) You left Florence for my sake. But for me, the great Princes--(_with an effort_) the Medici--would have helped.

_Paulo_

(_Brusquely._) We agreed--(_pretended severity_)--solemnly, you remember--never to mention your princely lover’s name. Nothing stops good painting like jealousy, and at _that_ name I see blood.

_Lucia_

(_Smiling._) Our Palace is too poor to house even that thin ghost. You have no need to think of jealousy.

_Paulo_

No need now, Lucia. In Venice we are safe from Damiano di Medici. Now, will you sit for me? I burn to work. Come! You must have roses in your hands. I will go to the flower-sellers by the bridge.

_Lucia_

I would have brought them with me from the market-place--one scudi each! I hesitated----

_Paulo_

And bought ten sprats instead! My wonderful, clever house-wife. Without sprats to eat I never could paint roses! But I must have them. I shall be but a moment away, my love--a single moment (_throwing kisses from the door_) that will seem like years! Farewell … Little Child.

_Lucia_

Little Child! Ah, how I love that name, given to me with our first kiss. I love it better than my own. (_Thinks a moment, puzzled._) For somehow it seems my _very_ own----

_Paulo_

It is your own. The little love-name that seems to travel like memory up the ages. I shall be back as soon as you are ready.

[_Exit_

[_Knocking at the door startles her._

(_Enter DAMIANO DI MEDICI._)

_Lucia_

You! And so soon. It is _too_ soon. I’ve had no time to prepare him yet----

_Medici_

A painter receives his patron without preparation surely----

_Lucia_

Patron! You must not use that word to him, or all is ruined before it is even begun. You must remember----

_Medici_

(_Bows ironically._) “Must” to me! And “must” again! My gracious Lady Lucia forgets----

_Lucia_

Nothing. She remembers that her husband, first of all, is proud, as I have already warned you. He does not yet know that I have been to see you--you, of all men in the world.

_Medici_

(_Frowning._) When you say “proud” you mean, I take it, jealous.

_Lucia_

I mean both. (_Manner changing._) Oh, Prince, you promised--I have your word that you would be guided in this by me.

_Medici_

(_Unbending._) I was in haste to see the picture----

_Lucia_

But too great haste----

_Medici_

(_Ignoring her interruption._) For he is, I swear truly, the man I need--his work, that is to say. (_Threateningly._) As once, my Lady, you were the woman that I needed. But needs do not last for ever, nor is any indispensable--perhaps.

_Lucia_

(_More control._) Oh, give me time, Prince, please. You do not want to lose him. I have your word and trust it. (_Anxiously._) Will you not take your gondola to the islands--the sun is sweet upon the water--and return in half an hour? I--by that time I----

_Medici_

The light is sweet upon your face as well. What do you offer me in return for so great a favour?

_Lucia_

I am the wife of Paulo Salviati.

_Medici_

And have, as I see, married poverty as well as genius! I was too slow for once, as now, it seems, I am too hasty. I should have asked--and taken--all before this fellow----

_Lucia_

(_Scorn._) Poverty with Salviati is beauty for _eternity_. The wealth of a Florentine princess belongs to _time_.

_Medici_

And, therefore, you come humbly to ask _me_ a favour.

_Lucia_

One it should be an honour for you to grant (_with earnest persuasion_)--that you may share in giving eternal beauty to the world. Had I asked the Collona or the Calviere to see the work of a great painter whom poverty----

_Medici_

You came, instead, to me.

_Lucia_

You have bought the palace on the Grand Canal and need a great--the greatest--painter for your ceiling-----

_Medici_

Enthusiasm becomes you. You look divine with that passion in your eyes.

_Lucia_

(_Cunningly._) I am his model too, you see.

_Medici_

And that delicious gesture. (_Steps nearer._) A little more fire, a touch more of abandon, and I swear that--on certain conditions--oh, very small ones!--I would grant everything you ask.

_Lucia_

(_Icily._) An hour ago, when we talked together, you passed me your word. I appealed to you as lover of the beautiful--the best, the noblest in you. I was, it seems, mistaken, and our interview now had better end. (_Moves to window._) I will call my husband.

_Medici_

This change from fire to ice is exquisite! (_Admiringly._) But why so proud, fair Lady Lucia? (_She stands listening._) You hear him coming? (_She hears the water lapping. Hides her face a moment._) It is only the waves. The tide is rising still. That’s all.

_Lucia_

(_Distraught._) Yes, rising, rising. Please leave me, Prince. No, no--please stay--a moment longer. (_Frightened._) Forgive me. Something--a vision-flashed upon me out of darkness. I am confused. I fear. (_To herself._) Oh, I have done this very thing before----

_Medici_

But not with me, alas!

_Lucia_

(_Goes to his side._) Forgive me. I thought only of myself. For a moment I forgot the work, the beauty that is his divine, his holy mission. Now I’m myself again. The water, the rising water--somehow--in some strange way--reminds me. Oh, I will be wise and loving in the noblest way. (_Looks into his eyes. Imploringly._) It is his need, his poverty, that drive me to ask a favour of you who once aspired to be my lover. Have you no pity? We fled from Florence to escape you--it is true. I would rather ask favours of any in the world but you---- (_Confused._)

_Medici_

And yet--(_To himself._) And you are his model. You could live for ever on my ceiling! (_To her._) You are, indeed, a Goddess belonging to eternity! (_Admiringly._)

_Lucia_

And yet--yes, I came to you an hour ago--as patron. It is true. It was for his sake and for his great art I came. (_Voice singing outside._) Oh, I ask no favour now more than a little time to talk with him. That is his voice. I will persuade him. I will gain his consent, and he will do the picture for you--for your palace. Leave me, I beg, a few moments with him alone, and then return--to find--I promise it--the greatest painter in all Italy----

_Medici_

In all the world.

_Lucia_

Prepared to give you of his best.

[_Clasps her hands and stares into his face._

_Medici_

To have you in my palace so (_admiringly_) is, perhaps, the next best thing to--have you in my----

_Lucia_

Oh, I implore you. Leave me with him. (_Singing comes very close._) I promise.

_Medici_

(_Shrugging._) You have chosen the one spell that moves me. Even more strong than the love of a fair woman is my love of art--its wonder, its beauty, and its triumph. His picture will outlive even your loveliness. (_Sighs._) My name and my great palace will remind a later world of me, and of what I did for beauty. Well, well, my Lady Lucia, you win me over--for the moment, at any rate. I will stand behind this screen and listen. I must hear how you persuade genius to abjure its principles!

_Lucia_

(_Firmly._) Then I do nothing. You must first go.

_Medici_

Another “must.” Your self-will is adorable. Upon my word! But I, too, have a “must”--his work, with yourself as model, on my palace ceiling! (_Yields with a sarcastic bow._)

[_Exit._

[_LUCIA mounts the model’s throne and stands, arranging her drapery, as PAULO enters._

_Paulo_

(_Breathless; carries roses._) Only two! They were so dear. I have not your skill in bargains. (_Holds out roses._) We must make them do. (_Kisses her._) Have I been very long? I had to go nearly to the Zucca.

_Lucia_

Two roses added to our love makes a whole garden. And one day soon you shall lack nothing the work needs. (_Tenderly._) Oh, Paulo, beloved, by rights everything should be yours now. There is not a painter in Italy who comes near you.

_Paulo_

(_Quietly._) I shall win the Competition. We shall have plenty then.

_Lucia_

(_Lower._) Your art needs it _now_. (_Sighs._) I am so useless to you--and yet----

_Paulo_

(_Looking._) And yet--? Lucia, this anxiety, this nervousness is strange to you. You use unaccustomed words. “Useless”! What can you mean?

_Lucia_

You would never be angry--you would not scold me, no matter what I might do--for your work’s sake?

_Paulo_

(_Passionately._) You have such darling moods. I love you. The work is ours, not mine. (_Caresses her._) I understand so well. It is your love that makes you tremble for the work’s sake: the picture grows, the Competition Day comes nearer. It’s like the sea-tides rising--it affects you--_I_ understand!

_Lucia_

Yes, yes. You always know. You’re always right. An inner tide seems rising in me as the time draws near. You understand my woman’s moods, and so forgive them.

_Paulo_

(_Painting._) Picture the scene, as we used to do when scudi were very scarce. It always makes us happy--the brilliant forecast.

_Lucia_

Tell me again. I love to hear it all.

_Paulo_

The judging will be in the Council Hall where the Doge holds high state, crowded with the noblest and loveliest of all Venice. The pictures chosen for the final verdict--that’s Vernio’s and Marco Gagliano’s, and mine--I mean ours--of course--will stand apart on easels. And on a pillar in front of them shines the jewelled casket with the thousand gold pieces that Venice bestows--a mere trifle--upon him she decrees the greatest artist----

_Lucia_

And the pillar is garlanded with roses--more than these two, but not more lovely, Paulo.

_Paulo_

Of course. And the competitors waiting in a hungry, anxious group----

_Lucia_

_You_ won’t be hungry. I’ll have so many sprats the night before----

_Paulo_

I shan’t be anxious either.

_Lucia_

(_Happier._) You will be dressed in a new doublet of purple cloth. If we can buy no golden thread for the embroidery I shall weave this across it. (_Holds out her hair._) You’ll look magnificent----

_Paulo_

The picture----

_Lucia_

Still more magnificent. They won’t know which to look at----

_Paulo_

(_Merry._) Then they’ll squint.

_Lucia_

The judge will call aloud your name: Paulo Salviati. You will be victor, and all the Assembly will rise to honour you----

_Paulo_

(_Correcting her again._) The work. My art, not me. My art, my work----

[_LUCIA stands up to show the judge’s gestures. She hears the water lapping. Her face changes._

What is it, Little Child?

_Lucia_

N--nothing, Paulo. I--I merely thought a moment of those other painters, of Vernio, of Gagliano, the favoured ones who have wealthy patrons, so that they can work in ease and comfort, lacking nothing----

_Paulo_

(_Grandly._) Except my inspiration--and my liberty. Think what that means. My work is done in freedom, and _must_ surpass their best since it is bought of luxury. (_Earnest and contemptuous._) What artist, no matter his genius, that can see truth while a patron jogs his brush, bidding him do this and that, set here a touch of gold and there of scarlet, put here a flower, a bird, and there a--a (_explodes_)--a sprat--! Why not? It is the soul alone that sees truth, and such men have sold their souls. They will be paid accordingly.

_Lucia_

(_Agitated._) There are some patrons who--it is said--give freedom, liberty too.

_Paulo_

I never heard their names.

_Lucia_

There are some who know, who understand better. (_Confused and rapidly._) They say the Medicis----

_Paulo_

(_Stops painting._) Such painters and their patrons live for time, not for eternity, my Little Child. And among them the worst--the very worst--is that Florentine whose best claim to merit is that he dared to aspire to your love.

_Lucia_

I hate and despise him. Yet I dread his help--for others. He is as great in influence almost as his elder brother, Cosimo.

_Paulo_

Bah!

_Lucia_

Forgive me, Paulo--I reproach myself often that we fled from him--from Florence--where he might--(_lower_) oh, he _could_ have done so much for you--his patronage.

_Paulo_

(_Staring._) The mere name, as you see, stops me painting. You must not speak of it, here least of all in our place of work, of worship. Patronage--bah! My fire would go out, my inspiration leave me, my soul die in bondage. I must have (_loudly_) liberty.

_Lucia_

(_Frightened._) The Madonna help me! Paulo, beloved, see what I have brought you--something your picture needs. My present and my surprise. No questions, now!

[_Holds out richly-coloured silk._

_Paulo_

(_Delighted, amazed._) That very broidery we saw together! Lucia--Little Child! How did you pay for it, or--or did you steal it? The merchant asked ten lira, I remember--and we had but three. (_Examines it._) The colour of wine and pomegranate! Gorgeous! How did you pay for it? Quick, tell me. (_LUCIA turns her head from side to side._) The long gold earrings! Your last jewel! Lucia! (_Takes her in his arms._) I’ll kiss your ears (_softly_) till they leave blushes you cannot sell, fairer than any jewels, for they are the kisses of my soul which sees eternal beauty.

_Lucia_

Would that I had a whole casket of both kinds, my Paulo! Of one kind I would sell all. You should have a studio with north light, the best paints that can be bought, the choicest hangings, the fairest models, and--and, oh, everything these others possess who have not risked all for Love and brought a wife from Florence---- (_Voice breaks and stops._)

_Paulo_

Hush, hush, Little Child! You have given all you had--and that is everything. My art, if it is inspired as we dream, is stronger than circumstances, and will conquer. And I have liberty--love, beauty, liberty! What more can I ask of Heaven? Come, see the picture with me a moment. (_Draws her to it._) Let us look at it together. (_They stand before it._)

_Lucia_

(_Low._) The Gods painted it.

_Paulo_

(_Moved._) Your soul and mine, say rather. The hand is nothing. It is the inspiration. (_They look a moment._) It was conceived, at least, in liberty--(_Starts and looks at her._) You whispered something? I did not catch it. Tell me, Little Child. You feel--? Why, I declare, you tremble.

_Lucia_

(_Very low._) One thing, I fear, one thing alone! The golden bloom, the warmth, the joyous laughter and the richness all Venetians love. It will be judged with the work of--of others whom plenty and comfort and--and all that help which money can provide----

_Paulo_

Men who feed from their patron’s hands like obedient lap-dogs----

_Lucia_

Madonna, help me! They have never to calculate if their blue paint can last till the sky is finished. (_Impetuously._) Why, in Florence, the Medici gives his painters----

_Paulo_

That name again!

_Lucia_

I chose it at random--by mistake. It slipped out, I mean. (_Losing control more._) Oh, my too proud Paulo, if you only knew how I love your pride and worship it. I only thought--for a moment only--the merest foolish moment--that this young Medici--oh, he loves beauty too, he worships art and beauty--_perhaps_--I wondered--he _might_ have helped in a way that even you could have accepted without losing your liberty. I reproach myself so----

_Paulo_

(_Sternly._) Lucia, I need no man’s help. I have told you. You doubt my art, my power, when you show this fear. It is fear that makes you reproach yourself. Our love knows no fear. (_Soothes her._)

_Lucia_

It is, perhaps, myself I fear, Paulo. A strange dread haunts me like a dream. I fear lest I injure your great work, your mission----

_Paulo_

You tremble still. You are excited. Tell me, Little Child--do you know something that you hide from me--that you cannot tell me?

[_Pause._

_Lucia_

Nothing, nothing, but my woman’s mood. My passion to help you is so great I sometimes fear lest I guide it wrongly--(_breaks off_). See, Paulo, the light is good, and we have this broidery you need (_replaces old drapery with the new silk piece_)--the very thing--exactly the tint and texture. I’ll sit for you. (_Shows hurry._) There is no time to lose. Some one might disturb us.

_Paulo_

(_A look of suspicion comes and goes. He watches her puzzled, while mixing his paints._) Your mood is _new_. That is what disquiets me. You seem expectant almost. And this strange haste, Lucia? We never hurry!

_Lucia_

(_Laughing gaily._) Only that I long to see this colour (_touches silk_) in your picture--on the very canvas, alive and burning--before it is seen by--by others.

_Paulo_

(_Absorbed._) Yet who should see it before the Competition Day?

_Lucia_

Of course, of course. Still I am anxious. Time is precious. (_Poses._) Oh, how lovely the silk lies on me! Look! And am _I_ right? (_Whispers._) Paulo, I feel your brushes on my heart. Paint swiftly, beloved, swiftly.

_Paulo_

Beautiful! Perfect! Divine! There--just as you are now. Don’t move! Even your heart must stop!

_Lucia_

Madonna, help me!

_Paulo_

She does. Have no fear for the result. (_Paints hard._) Now, talk to me while I work--no movement, mind! Just words. I love the music of your voice. It soothes and blesses me. The gossip of the market-place, for instance?

_Lucia_

(_Quickly._) Ah, well, then the Eros will interest you--the one we coveted so.… It’s gone from the merchant’s booth at last.

_Paulo_

Our Grecian Eros! Our little statue! I shall miss it. I wonder who bought it. Or has it flown back to Samos, starved with yearning, on our summer wind? Some day we’ll follow it. Greece! Glorious mother of artists! My heart lies there--sometimes, I almost think, my memory too. (_Pause._) Who bought our Eros? Did you hear that as well?

_Lucia_

The critics say that in your art Greece has come back to life again.

_Paulo_

Who bought it, Lucia? Your head to the right a little--so.

_Lucia_

A great Prince, a stranger to Venice, they said, who has bought the Cavaliere Palazzo on the Grand Canal. Gossip is full of it. He has sworn to make it more beautiful than Cosimo Medici’s in Florence----

_Paulo_

That odious name again! (_Smiling._) It haunts you, Little Child! (_She starts._) Don’t move! don’t move! The pose is perfect.

_Lucia_

Haunts the gossip of the town, rather--for which you asked me, Signor! The ceilings are to be painted with classical scenes alone--the loves of Apollo, and Athena’s triumph.

_Paulo_

What subjects! And I know that Palazzo. Its ceilings are superb, enormous! Painting the very sky! (_Steps back to examine his work._) It’s coming, it’s coming, the very colour I wanted. Yes, yes, they are the biggest in all Venice, so I’m told. (_Turns to her._) Now, just suppose, Lucia--just suppose that one day----

_Lucia_

(_Nervous._) Paulo, beloved, do not stop. Paint on quickly. You are in your best vein. Paint on before--before the light changes. Yes, and I heard one other thing.

_Paulo_

(_Painting._) Ah!

_Lucia_

That this Prince will commission the winner of the Competition----

_Paulo_

(_Looking up._) To paint those ceilings! Not unlikely, Lucia! There are menial fellows enough with talent who would do it. _I_--win or lose--_I_ accept no commission tainted by patronage. And I _shall_ win. What was this Prince’s name?

_Lucia_

(_Excited._) And those ceilings might be yours!

_Paulo_

Who is he?

_Lucia_

S--some said one thing, some another. I----

_Paulo_

The merchant must have delivered his Eros--to somebody--somewhere.

[_Watches her._

_Lucia_

He didn’t say. I didn’t ask _him_. It was the gondolier as I came home. Oh, Paulo, I cannot sit well for you if you cross-question me like this! You’re like a judge. I love you so. Why should you suspect----?

[_Rises agitated._

_Paulo_

Suspect! _You!_ Clear water cannot hide the reflections in it. (_Expression of comprehension dawns on his face._) Even if your love guided you amiss, I--I could never think, and far less use--that ugly word! Lucia! Little Child! You tremble---- (_Starts forward._)

[_Enter OLD WOMAN, flustered. LUCIA’S hand flies to her heart._

_Woman_

Signor! Signora! A great gentleman comes for you. His gondola is already at the steps. I heard him give orders to wait. I ran on to warn you.

_Lucia_

(_Cry._) Already!

_Paulo_

(_Half incredulous still._) Great gentleman! (_Looking at LUCIA._) Asking for--us!

[_LUCIA silent, face in hands._

_Woman_

He is no Venetian. By his liveries he must be a Prince at least, and a great one. Your dress, Signora! (_Arranges it._) He’s come to buy the Signor’s pictures! Your fortune’s made. Oh, happy day! _I_ will open the gate for him, so he will not know you have no servant.

[_Exit._

_Paulo_

(_Grim._) I do not understand. (_Makes to fasten door, hesitates, then turns to LUCIA._) _You_ can explain this to me--Little Child--perhaps?

_Lucia_

Paulo, Paulo, do not be angry. Oh, forgive me, I implore. For your dear sake--for your work, your art--for you, I did it. It is not _me_ he comes to see. It is your work, your picture. I went this very day--but an hour ago--to make him come. Oh, tell me, tell me I have not done wrong!

(_OLD WOMAN opens door. Enter MEDICI._)

_Paulo_

(_Aghast._) Damiano di Medici! Here!

_Lucia_

(_Hand on his arm._) Paulo! Paulo!

_Medici_

At your service, Signor Salviati. (_To LUCIA._) Signora bellissima! Am I too early still? My promise--you remember--I was impatient to fulfil it.

_Paulo_

Promise! What can a Prince of the Medici promise to my wife?

_Medici_

(_Gravely._) That which only the proudest painter may receive gladly from a humble prince: appreciation of his work.

_Paulo_

(_Coldly._) My work is not done for the appreciation of princes. I have no work to show.

_Medici_

Your wife, Signor, said otherwise. And she is a rare judge of values. (_Bows._) A faultless critic! (_Bows to her._)

_Paulo_

The Prince di Medici knows.

_Lucia_

(_To Paulo._) Oh, do not anger him. And think a little of _me_. You forget the risk--for your sake--that I ran--(_imploring_) your career----

_Paulo_

(_Watches her thoughtfully, weighing things that perplex him._) Love led you a strange errand.

_Lucia_

For the work’s sake, my Paulo.

_Medici_

The Medici have short memories for their failures. (_Laughs._) Her courage--in coming to visit me--was even more rare than her (_glances at the picture_)--her judgment.

_Paulo_

(_With effort._) She went to see you--yes. It was a mistaken courage that earned you a favour of that kind.

_Medici_

(_Suave._) Even in Venice a Medici does not receive strangers--without a name--or, shall I say, whose name is yet to win. Your wife, Signor, had the courage to get her way to me past half a hundred lacqueys. But more! She had the eloquence and wit to persuade my return visit--here. She assured me your picture was worthy of my personal, my immediate inspection.

[_Goes to it. PAULO starts forward to prevent him._

_Lucia_

(_Catches his arm._) Paulo, beloved--by our love, by little Eros (_frantic_), by everything!

[_MEDICI moves the picture into better light._

_Medici_

(_Watching them out of corner of his eye._) With your permission. (_Bows._) You will, perhaps, forgive the liberty. The light fails suddenly a little. So--(_examines critically, with signs of pleasure_).

_Paulo_

(_Back turned._) For your sake, Little Child, I endure this cruelty.

_Lucia_

I yearned to help----

_Paulo_

So it was he who bought the Eros too? (_To himself._) This is an evil omen. (_To her._) I thought us safe in Venice.

_Lucia_

You are so calm, so quiet. You terrify. I would fear your anger less. Oh, my great Paulo, my dear, listen to me one moment. This family--this man--vile though he be--loves art and beauty, and in so far is not--Oh, I mean--oh, Paulo, it is his ceilings, his palace, his help to your career that have betrayed me! You could bring Greece to life in Venice--and for ever. Think not of him. Think only of your beauty--lighting the world when he is dust----

_Paulo_

(_Quietly._) Is my art so poor a thing--have you so misunderstood it--that you think it is for sale?

_Lucia_

(_Distraught._) Have I done _that_!

[_MEDICI turns from the picture to PAULO._

_Medici_

(_With reverence._) You have been taught of the Gods--the Gods of Greece.

_Paulo_

(_Frigidly._) Your praise----

_Lucia_

Hush, oh, I beg you--for _my_ sake.

_Medici_

The drawing is the equal of del Sarto’s and the composition no poorer than da Vinci’s. I swear it. Yet--the colour--hmm--I miss Titian’s glory. Those shadows (_pointing_) are out of tone a little----

_Lucia_

(_Quickly._) We ran out of blue that day, alas----

_Medici_

Your model was, certainly, perfect. But why have you painted the nymphs from her as well as their divine mistress?

_Lucia_

Models demand impossible prices----

[_PAULO puts his hand on her mouth angrily._

_Medici_

(_Reflecting._) So little more, and it were a masterpiece. Even now it should win the Competition, by rights. Yet Vernio’s is just a shade more rich, more splendid. I have seen it. And Gagliano has a purer colour. But then, of course, Gagliano buys his paint from that fellow by the Zucca who has a secret method--and charges accordingly, the scoundrel!

_Paulo_

(_Unable to contain himself longer._) I paint as I desire, and as I can. The picture is mine. And not for sale!

_Medici_

(_Kindly._) I admire your spirit, Signor. It has the independence of ancient Greece herself. Yet at what price? You may be satisfied with yourself, but your art thereby suffers. It becomes a slave of your conditions--if you will allow the language.

_Lucia_

Oh, it must be so! Paulo, it must be so! You see?

_Paulo_

(_Proudly._) Conditions that leave the spirit free, at least. The spirit of beauty owns no master----

_Medici_

The husband of such beauty should be more gracious. (_Frankly._) Ah, Salviati, you speak to a Medici, indeed, but also to one who loves beauty as you yourself do. I might--had I persisted--have taken your golden bird in my own net. (_Pauses._) It is my pleasure now to set you free from the hard conditions that enslave you. In this way can a Medici reward good for evil. Signor, I forgive all for the sake of your genius. I admire your picture--its true classic spirit. Yet it has not quite the warmth, the fire, the bounteous splendour we Italians ask. Give but your sky a deeper hue, add to that robe the undertone of scarlet it needs to make it felt, flood our prodigal Italian sunshine over it all--and I will buy your picture at your price.

_Lucia_

Yes, yes. Oh, Paulo, what an offer! Think!

_Paulo_

It is not for sale.

_Medici_

While you may still enter it for the Competition. The judges--er--may hear that Damiano di Medici has bought it for his new Palazzo--and--judge--accordingly.

_Paulo_

(_Low._) The gold, the blue, the scarlet you desire--I mean, suggest--are not in my scheme.

_Medici_

Yet they would add the perfect touch now lacking--in my judgment, Signor. Come, now, I will go further. I have sworn that my Palazzo shall surpass even that of Cosimo, my ambitious brother, in Florence. I will have a Gorgione for his Lippo Lippi, and--if you will--a Salviati for his da Vinci. I offer you, further, the painting of my ceilings, Signor--seven years’ inspired and happy labour.

_Paulo_

Seven years of bondage to another’s taste and purse.

_Lucia_

(_To PAULO._) You could do your own work too.

[_Looking at MEDICI._

_Medici_

Why not?

_Paulo_

To add this gold and blue and scarlet is--for me--a lie.

_Lucia_

Oh, my beloved, think, think a little, and weigh your words!

_Medici_

My offer stands--but not against unreasonable resistance. I repeat it: this picture at your figure, and seven years to paint the ceilings, with a certain freedom in design and subject, and permission to do your own work in your leisure. It is a matter to conclude now quickly. (_Ominously._) It is not amusing, though it may be novel, for a Medici to be thwarted of his will--his deep design. (_Bows._)

_Paulo_

A poor painter dares the novelty.

_Lucia_

(_Cries._) You forget everything, Paulo--me you forget even--when you say such words!

_Medici_

(_Impatient, half-threatening._) Beauty has turned your head, maybe. Excess, I have heard it said, (_significantly_) can affect the reason. You have (_glancing towards LUCIA_) _too_ much beauty. But there are remedies----

_Paulo_

(_Startled._) I do not understand you.

_Medici_

As a great patron, I have my duties too. (_Slowly._) If the possession of too much beauty threaten your great gift, I owe it to the world to (_sinister tone and look_) help--to save you.

_Paulo_

(_Facing him._) I prefer plain spoken language from a man--even though he be patron.

_Lucia_

Oh, guard your tongue at least! The Prince is patient with us.

_Medici_

(_Softly._) You robbed me once of beauty I desired. You fled from Florence. I accepted with a smile, and did not bestir myself to follow and prevent--as I could well have done. I was too kind, perhaps----

_Lucia_

(_Breaks in._) But, great Prince, you--you have forgotten all that. You swore----

_Medici_

(_To her._) The sight of beauty stirs my memory again. (_Suggestively._) For beauty grows, it seems. (_Smiles admiringly._)

[_He moves a little towards her. PAULO, with clenched hands, is held back by LUCIA._

_Lucia_

(_To MEDICI._) My Lord! (_To PAULO._) Oh, Paulo, hold yourself! Am I so little to you?

_Medici_

And this increase of beauty makes me remember something I had--(_to LUCIA_) as you say--forgotten. To see him who robbed me become my dependant--would have the true Grecian touch of comedy. (_Turns abruptly to PAULO with changed tone._) Salviati--before the light fails, will you now dip your brush in the gold and scarlet _we_ suggested?

_Paulo_

Never! Even in fading light I see only truth.

_Lucia_

Ah! Oh!

_Medici_

(_Looking from one to the other, then to the picture._) There are many flowers in my gardens, but Italy holds one Salviati only. (_Reflects._) My ceilings need him. I swore, besides, to Cosimo----

_Lucia_

(_Distraught._) My Lord, my Lord, you promised----!

_Medici_

(_Brusquely._) That I would see the work and offer my patronage--if it pleased me. That offer still holds good. But your husband is obstinate----

_Paulo_

I am true. I claim only liberty.

_Medici_

(_Darkly._) So I must remember my duties as a patron--and apply remedies that may save his unreason--and his--art.

_Lucia_

(_Alarmed._) What can you mean----?

[_MEDICI claps his hands._

_Medici_

Ho! Ho! Without there! (_Four MEN in livery rush in._) Take the woman, but do not hurt her.

[_MEN seize her._

_Lucia_

(_Struggling._) Ah, Dios! Madonna, help me! Alive--never! Paulo! Paulo!

_Paulo_

(_Tries to fight his way to her._) Never while I live either.

[_Draws a dagger._

_Medici_

(_To MEN._) Disarm him--gently, gently. No injury. Who bruises that right hand of his answers with his life, remember! Strike up the dagger instantly.

_Men_

(_Struggling._) For a painter he fights well.

Careful there! His hand--your sword’s point!

His right hand, yes. Be wary.

This is rare sport.

Have you got the arm? Hold fast.

I’ve got the dagger.

He’s safe, my Lord.

[_They hold him, disarmed._

_Lucia_

(_Held._) Paulo, my Paulo! (_Moans._) Oh, that I were dead, to have done this thing!

_Paulo_

(_Firmly._) My soul stands by yours. I know you true. Fear nothing!

_Medici_

(_Quietly._) Signor Salviati, I regret that my sense of duty--my deep desire that you shall achieve your greatest--force me to this unpleasant remedy. But poverty is not helpful to your work, and I must--as patron of unreasonable genius--protect your art and yourself. I offer, therefore, the best help in my power. If you accept--then I need take nothing (_glancing at LUCIA_) from your store of beauty.

_Paulo_

Dios! This cruelty--this treachery!

_Lucia_

No, no, no. Paulo, do not think of _me_----

_Paulo_

It is too late. (_To MEDICI, with effort._) Your vile scheme means this, then: that I submit my art to your paid dictation, become your creature, or you will--(_struggles violently_). Let me free! (_to MEN_). This bastard is not fit to live.

_A Man_

Hush! He is a Medici--Cosimo’s own brother.

_Medici_

My gondola waits. My new Palazzo lies but half an hour distant--ready to welcome its first fair ornament.

_Paulo_

(_Wild._) To be broken and thrown away when done with! Death is better now.

[_Tries to injure his right hand against a sword._

_Medici_

(_To MEN._) Careful. Hold him. Or your lives----

_Lucia_

(_Frantic._) Beloved, it is _not_ too late. Forget that I live--oh, forget me--for your work’s sake! Remember beauty only----

_Paulo_

(_Tender patience._) Little Child! My work and beauty live with liberty. (_Very softly._) Had you forgotten? Did belief in me waver, or did love guide you strangely--misconceiving----?

_Medici_

(_Impatient._) The light fails rapidly. The gold and scarlet should be laid on now, before dusk falls. (_To MEN._) One of you go and prepare my gondola--for a lady. (_MAN goes to door._) Lay a soft silken scarf upon the cushion--there must be no screams in Venice. (_To PAULO._) Oh, I will do it gently, Signor, with my own two hands. There shall be no roughness, no unkindness. (_MAN gives scarf._) Oh, here is the very thing. (_Goes towards LUCIA._) You will take this small attention from me, I beg, if nothing else.

_Lucia_

I hate you! Your touch is poison.

[_Struggles._

_Medici_

You should not ask favours, then, of those who poison you. (_Puts scarf round her arms._) For the mouth I have a yet softer silk, as you shall see. Ah, the Medici, they say, are fortunate in love, and I shall find a way to win you. These arms I am forced to bind shall yet twine willingly about my neck----

_Paulo_

(_Shouts._) All I possess to him who kills him!

_Medici_

All you possess!

_Paulo_

(_Yields._) And more--my liberty. Let her go!

_Medici_

So reason returns, at last. The remedy works already towards a cure.

_Paulo_

Set her free. I give my word.

_Medici_

Though I trust no man, I trust _your_ word, Salviati.

_Paulo_

(_Stammering._) Unfasten me. Give me my palette.

_Medici_

(_To MEN._) Release him. Release the lady too. But watch him closely, lest he hide a weapon.

_Paulo_

(_Free._) This is my only weapon (_takes brushes, etc._). With it I put chains upon my soul. So--and so.

[_Dabs on paint. LUCIA silent. Collapses to her knees and hides her face._

_Medici_

Improved already! So swiftly! You are, indeed, the greatest of them all. We shall beat Verio out of court, and Gagliano will die of envy on the spot. (_To MEN._) Begone with you! No, stay a moment--take the picture with you and lay it carefully in the gondola. It shall be finished under my own eye--before the ceilings are begun. (_MEN obey._) Carefully! One smear and your lives are forfeit. (_Turns to LUCIA and raises her._) You are not quick to thank me, Signora, yet I have fulfilled my promise to you. All that you begged of me is accomplished. Henceforth Salviati, your husband, shall work in comfort and lack nothing.

_Lucia_

(_Faint._) How--how could I have done this thing? What ancient deep perversity--what lack of faith--what hidden destiny in me? (_To PAULO._) Paulo, look, look at me! (_He keeps his back to her. MEDICI watches them quietly._) Hark!

[_Sound of water lapping heard outside._

_Medici_

So you will not thank me--either one of you? No matter. I like a little spirit. (_Goes to door._) Carefully, now! The edges safe. No flick of dust, mind.

[_Stands looking down steps._

_Lucia_

(_Low._) Hark! (_To PAULO._) It is another sound I hear. (_Whispers._) Paulo! It is water. (_Stands listening intently to the lap of the sea. Distress increases. Passes hand over forehead, as if trying to remember something._) The rising water! (_She turns her head slowly to look at PAULO. He turns slowly too. Their eyes meet. Very low._) You hear? (_Whispers._) That sound is in my soul. Paulo--I half remember--something--that hides behind it, yet comes with it. (_Goes up and clings to him._) I have done this thing before--destroyed you--with my selfish love.

_Paulo_

Hush, hush!

_Lucia_

You look so strangely at me. Your face changes. Dios! (_Frantic._) Speak to me, beloved! If you cannot forgive--say that you understand. Oh, what is it in your eyes? (_Fear._)

[_Dusk increases._

_Paulo_

(_Tender whisper._) The night is coming--with her stars. In my eyes is only love. (_Patiently._) There is nothing to forgive. (_Embraces her for several moments. Then breaks suddenly away._) Where is the gold--the scarlet? (_Bewildered. To MEDICI._) What is my Lord’s desire?

_Lucia_

(_Screams._) Oh, I have killed--killed _again_.

[_Falls._

_Paulo_

(_Catching her._) Little Child!

_Medici_

(_Turning at the scream._) She is even more beautiful than I first thought. Well, well, the picture is mine at any rate, and she--(_smiles_). A good evening’s work. How dark it grows. And the rising tide is at the full. Ho! Without there! My gondola!

[_Exit._

[_PAULO and LUCIA in each other’s arms._

CURTAIN

EPILOGUE

PRESENT DAY

CHARACTERS

PHILLIP LATTIN. MRS. LATTIN. THE DOCTOR.

EPILOGUE

SCENE--SAME AS PROLOGUE.

TIME--PRESENT.

(_MRS. LATTIN opens her eyes slowly. The DOCTOR, near the bed, is seen making a gesture with his arms as if lowering a curtain. MRS. LATTIN shows bewilderment._)

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Dreamily._) Where am I? Florence … Greece … Egypt … where are they? I am back again. But _who_ am I?

_Doctor_

You are your Past.

_Mrs. Lattin_

I slept? But yet I lived it. I understand at last. I have found life.

_Doctor_

_You_ cannot die, nor can _you_ sleep.

_Mrs. Lattin_

But time.…

_Doctor_

Is the body’s measuring.

[_She looks round the room, and finally into his face. He moves slowly backwards towards the door._

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Thinking._) It was not a dream. I was in Greece with Phocion … with Paulo in Italy … with.… Oh, it is too long ago, too far away. It’s fading. (_Eagerly._) Oh, I would not forget!

_Doctor_

The results lie in you. That is memory.

_Mrs. Lattin_

Each time I injured … thwarted the highest in him by my selfish love. How small my love! Oh, tell me it is not now too late.…

_Doctor_

(_By door._) There is no “too late.” What he could do without was added to him. You have taught Menophis, Phocion and Paulo to become … Phillip.

[_He begins to fade._

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Joyfully._) I understand at last, and I am healed. I delayed Menophis. I shall inspire Phillip. I shall go with him … back to … Egypt. Phocion, Paulo, how happy _they_ will be!

_Doctor_

(_Almost invisible._) _He_ is coming now. I leave you.

_Mrs. Lattin_

But _he_ must see you too.…

_Doctor_

(_Invisible, only a voice heard._) He cannot.

[_Door opens. PHILLIP enters quietly. He shows surprise at finding her sitting up. Her hands are stretched out towards the door where the DOCTOR has vanished. As he enters, the clock strikes the last three strokes of six o’clock._

_Phillip_

You rang. I just slipped back to see----

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Low._) Phocion … my faithful.…

_Phillip_

Eh? Are you all right? I mustn’t stay. Doctor Ogilvie will be here any minute.

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Low._) Paulo … my dear one.… I----

_Phillip_

(_Puzzled._) You slept a moment probably. Good! (_Startled by her happy expression._) You look … so much better!

_Mrs. Lattin_

He came. And I am healed.

[_NURSE enters hurriedly._

_Nurse_

(_Whispering to PHILLIP so that MRS. LATTIN does not hear._) Dr. Ogilvie has just telephoned. He is detained. He cannot get here till seven o’clock.

_Phillip_

All right. Hush!

[_Exit NURSE._

_Mrs. Lattin_

He told me … showed me … everything.

_Phillip_

(_Humouring her._) He gave you hope--the best? I see it in your eyes.

_Mrs. Lattin_

It’s not--_I_ am not--too late. That’s all.

_Phillip_

Hush! Hush! Lie quiet a little longer. (_Goes on to ask, still humouring her._) You mean the doctor says----?

_Mrs. Lattin_

I am so happy. I know and understand now. It’s glorious.

_Phillip_

My darling! Gently, gently! Do not excite yourself. Lie still and sleep, if you can, again. He has given you something? Later, you shall tell me----

_Mrs. Lattin_

Ah, your great patient strength! It is too wonderful. And to think that my weakness helped, my selfish----!

[_Sits up and peers closely at him, shading her eyes with one hand._

_Phillip_

(_Anxious, puzzled._) The lamp is in your eyes. I’ll move it. Do not stir. There, is that better?

_Mrs. Lattin_

Thank you, but I do not mind the light. I mind nothing. Thank you (_the name comes back suddenly_), Phillip. Ah, it _is_ Phillip! I know you again--as you are--to-day!

[_Passes hand over forehead. Sighs and leans back. But face happy and at peace._

_Phillip_

Mary!

_Mrs. Lattin_

Not Mary: Little Child.

_Phillip_

My--Little Child. (_Doubting and perplexed._)

_Mrs. Lattin_

Phillip, dear heart, I’ve seen--I’ve seen my past--with you.

_Phillip_

(_Soothingly._) Yes, yes. When you’re more rested you shall tell me everything. Your dreams----

_Mrs. Lattin_

I must speak now. I’ve seen _our_ past.

_Phillip_

(_Bewildered._) Tell me, then, dearest, tell me. Then you must lie still----

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Firmly._) Life!

_Phillip_

(_Impressed._) Life!

_Mrs. Lattin_

I have recovered. I love you more--but differently. I can forgive myself at last.

_Phillip_

Recovery! Forgiveness! I do not understand.

_Mrs. Lattin_

You have not _seen_. I understand for both of us.

_Phillip_

You have had dreams that troubled you. I implore you, dearest----

_Mrs. Lattin_

Look in my face. There is no trouble there--but only joy and life.

_Phillip_

Yes, yes, but--my darling, what _can_ you mean?

_Mrs. Lattin_

He came--and went.

_Phillip_

And left one word behind him only----?

_Mrs. Lattin_

One word--Life.

_Phillip_

(_Almost convinced._) Then----?

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Radiant, rising from couch._) I shall go back with you.

_Phillip_

To Egypt!

_Mrs. Lattin_

I shall never delay or thwart again. Ah, so many times I have--by my selfish love--(_breaks off_). Your work _is_ a mission--always. It is your soul’s career. I understand at last.

_Phillip_

Hush, hush, Little Child! You say wild things. I could never hear of it. I know your dread, your shrinking fear of Egypt. It would make you ill again. All the doctors agreed----

_Mrs. Lattin_

I have _no_ dread! My shrinking was--a memory. It was instinctive--a cowardice that shirked sweet expiation--_there_, where it is due. (_In spite of him, she rises to her feet. Vigorous._) I am well again. I shall go back with you. Your work--_my_ work--lies out there--in Egypt. Oh, Phillip, be glad with me, for I am forgiven, I am healed!

_Phillip_

(_Stirred._) Dear heart! Your soul is too grand for this frail, precious body. You injure yourself. Such sacrifice from you I could never, never----

[_Breaks off, as he notes the radiant expression in her face. They stand close together beneath the picture._

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Inflexibly._) It is no sacrifice. It is love, love, love!

_Phillip_

(_Tenderly._) That deep love I never doubted. But--the ingrained dread, the fear, the shrinking that have undermined your willing strength. How can you----?

_Mrs. Lattin_

They are gone for ever. Phillip, how often must I tell you? I am healed. I go back with you. We go together. Our life is there, in Egypt.

_Phillip_

(_Almost convinced._) I feel some great new reality in you. You are most wonderfully changed. Some star of life is rising over us--again. (_He gazes into her radiant face with a touch of respect and wonder._) If--if----

_Mrs. Lattin_

You must at once withdraw your resignation. There is no “too late”! (_Laughs a little._) You promise me!

[_Amazement in him gives place to dawning belief at last. Yet he still hesitates._

_Phillip_

I will see the doctor myself. I promise that if he----

_Mrs. Lattin_

_You_ cannot.

_Phillip_

Cannot! (_Awe._) You mean--you have had a vision?

_Mrs. Lattin_

He has--gone.

_Phillip_

(_Convinced._) It _was_ a vision…?

[_She turns slowly and looks up at the picture on the wall above them. He turns with her. He is speechless. He holds her very close. They stare together at the palms, the river, the stars, the temples._

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Softly._) Egypt--where I first delayed and thwarted him, loving him for myself alone--Egypt, beneath your risen stars, beside your rising river--I _shall undo--at last_.

[_A new expression steals into his face. He gazes at the picture with her. He holds her still closer to him._

_Phillip_

(_Moved and wondering._) Little Child! It is very strange. Almost, it seems, some dream, some memory of long, long ago stirs in me.

[_A slight pause, as they gaze side by side at the picture._

(_With effort._) It is beyond me somewhere, but there is great beauty--that deep, unearthly Egyptian beauty in it. (_Lowers voice._) Those palms are rustling, those stars seem to move, the Nile flows down towards the sea. Perhaps.… The Tear of Isis falls.…

_Mrs. Lattin_

Listen … yes…!

_Phillip_

(_Turns to her._) Something about you, something new and--and familiar almost--steals upon me. I half believe.…

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Whispering._) Phillip, my faithful one, I heard another name as you said that. I heard an ancient name--was it Menophis?

_Phillip_

(_Hushed voice._) _I_ thought a name came to me too. It floated past--Nefertiti. It must have been the beating of your heart against my own.

[_They stand motionless, gazing, listening._

_Mrs. Lattin_

Dear, ancient names. How sweet they sound!

_Phillip_

(_Smiling._) I think we are bewitched!

_Mrs. Lattin_

Egypt! (_Pause. Adds softly._) I understand--at last.

[_He draws her head back and looks tenderly into her eyes._

_Phillip_

All but one thing.

_Mrs. Lattin_

Which is----?

_Phillip_

That what you call delay has helped and taught me.

_Mrs. Lattin_

(_Low._) Perhaps I understand that too. That which the soul can do without is added to it. (_Whispers._) Is it not that?

_Phillip_

Ah, you put it so. Perhaps you put it better. I only know that you have given me the thing I needed most--perspective, the longer sight. My vision clears. (_Bends down and kisses her._) I feel new power for my work. I see it whole.

_Mrs. Lattin_

Then my forgiveness is complete.

CURTAIN

End of Project Gutenberg's Karma, by Algernon Blackwood and Violet Pearn