Chapter 5

Morning twilight in RIBERA'S Garden. During this scene the day gradually breaks, and at the close the full light of morning illuminates the stage. LORENZO. AUBADE.

LORENZO (sings). From thy poppied sleep awake; From they golden dreams arise; Earth and seas new colors take, Love-light dawns in rosy skies, Weird night's fantastic shadows are outworn; Why tarriest thou, oh, sister to the morn?

Hearken, love! the matin choir Of birds salutes thee, and with these Blends the voice of my desire. Unto no richer promises Of deeper, dearer, holier love than mine, Canst thou awaken from they dreams divine.

Lo, thine eastern windows flame, Brightening with the brightened sky; Rise, and with thy beauty shame Morning's regal pageantry, To thrill and bless as the reviving sun, For my heart gropes in doubt, though night be gone.

(He speaks.) Why should I fear? Her soul is pledged to mine, Albeit she still withheld the binding word. How long hath been the night! but morn breathes hope. "I fain were true to you and to myself"-- Did she say thus? or is my fevered brain The fool of its desires? The world swam; The blood rang beating in mine ears and roared Like rushing waters; yet, as through a dream, I saw her dimly. Surely on her lids Shone the clear tears. As there's a God in heaven, She spake those words! My lips retain the touch Of those soft, snow-cold hands, neither refused Nor proffered. Such things ARE, nor can they be Forgotten or foreknown. Yes, she is mine. But soft! Her casement opes. Oh, joy, 't is she! Pale, in a cloud of white she stands and drinks The morning sunlight.

MARIA (above at the window). Ah, how sweet this air Kisses my sleepless lids and burning temples. I am not weary, though I found no rest. My spirit leaps within me; a new glory Blesses the dear, familiar scene--ripe orchard, The same--yet oh, how different! Even I thought Soft music trembled on the listening air, As though a harp were touched, blent with low song. Sure, that was phantasy. I will descend, Visit my flowers, and see whereon the dew Hangs heaviest, and what fairest bud hath bloomed Since yester-eve. Why should I court repose And dull forgetfulness, while the large earth Wakes no lesser joy than mine? [Exit from above.]

LORENZO. Oh, heart! How may my breast contain thee, with thy burden Of too much happiness?

Enter MARIA below; LORENZO springs forward to greet her; she shrinks back in a sort of terror.

LORENZO. Good-day, sweet mistress. May the blithe spirit of this auspicious morn Become the genius of thy days to come, Whereof be none less beautiful than this. Why art thou silent? Does not love inspire Joyous expression, be it but a sigh, A song, a smile, a broken word, a cry? Thou hast not granted me the promised pledge For which I hunger still. I would confirm With dear avowals, frequent seals of love, That which, though sure, I yet can scarce believe.

MARIA. Somewhat too sure, I think, my lord Lorenzo. I scarce deemed possible that one so shy But yester-morn should hold so high a mien, Claiming what ne'er was given.

LORENZO. Maria!

MARIA. Sir, You are a trifle bold to speak my name Familiarly as no man, save my father Or my own brother, dares.

LORENZO. Ah, now I see Your jest. You will not seem so lightly won Without a wooing? You will feign disdain, Only to make more sweet your rich concession? Too late--I heard it all. "A new light shines On the familiar scene." What may that be, Save the strange splendor of the dawn of love? Nay, darling, cease to jest, lest my poor heart, Hanging 'twixt hell and heaven, in earnest break.

MARIA. Here is no jest, sir, but a fatal error, Crying for swift correction. You surprise me With rude impatience, ere I have found time To con a gentle answer. Pardon me If any phrase or word or glance of mine Hath bred or nourished in your heart a hope That you might win my love. It cannot be.

LORENZO. A word, a glance! Why, the whole frozen statue Warmed into life. Surely it was not you. You must have bribed some angel with false prayers To wear your semblance--nay, no angel served, But devilish witchcraft--

MARIA. Sir, enough, enough! I hoped to find here peace and solitude. These lacking, I retire. Farewell. [Going toward the house.]

LORENZO. Signora, I will not rob you of your own. Farewell to you. [Exit.]

MARIA. Where have you flown, bright dreams? Has that rude hand Sufficed to dash to naught your frail creations? Sad thoughts and humors black now fill my soul. So his rough foot hath bruised the dewy grass, And left it sere. Why should his harsh words touch me? The truth of yesterday is false to-day. How could I know, dear God! How might I guess The bitter sweetness, the delicious pain! A new heart fills my breast, as soft and weak And melting as a tear, unto its lord; But kindled with quick courage to endure, If I need front for him, a world of foes. If this be love, ah, what a hell is theirs Who suffer without hope! Even I, who hold So many dear assurances, who hear Still ringing in mine ears such sacred vows, Am haunted with an unaccustomed doubt, Not wonted to go hand-in-hand with joy. A gloomy omen greets me with the morn; I, who recoil from pain, must strike and wound. What may this mean? Help me, ye saints of heaven And holy mother, for my strength is naught!

She falls on her knees and bursts into tears. Reenter LORENZO.

LORENZO (aside). Thank heaven, I came. How have I wrung her soul! A noble love, forsooth! A blind, brute passion, That being denied, is swift transformed to hate No whit more cruel. (To Maria.) Lady!

MARIA (rising hastily). Signor Lorenzo! Again what would you with me?

LORENZO. No such suit As late I proffered, but your gracious pardon.

MARIA. Rise, sir, forgiven. I, too, have been to blame, Although less deeply than you deemed. Forbear To bind your life. I feel myself unworthy Of that high station where your thoughts enthrone me. Yet I dare call myself your friend. [Offering him her hand, which LORENZO presses to his lips.]

LORENZO. Thanks, thanks! Be blessed, and farewell. [Exit.]

Enter RIBERA, calling.

RIBERA. Daughter! Maria!

MARIA. Why, father, I am here (kissing him). Good-day. What will you?

RIBERA. Darling, no more than what I always will. Before I enter mine own world removed, I fain would greet the dearest work of God. I missed you when I rose. I sought you first In your own chamber, where the lattice, oped, Let in the morning splendor and smells Of the moist garden, with the sound of voices. I looked, I found you here--but not alone. What man was that went from you?

MARIA. Your disciple, My lord Lorenzo. You remember, father, How yester-morn I pleaded for his work; Thus he, through gratitude and--love, hath watched All night within our garden, while I danced; And when I came to nurse my flowers--he spake.

RIBERA. And you?

MARIA. Am I not still beside you, father? I will not leave you.

RIBERA. Ah, mine angel-child! I cannot choose but dread it, though I wait Expectant of the hour when you fulfil Your woman's destiny. You have full freedom; Yet I rejoice at this reprieve, and thank thee For thy brave truthfulness. Be ever thus, Withholding naught from him whose heart reflects Only thine image. Thou art still my pride, Even as last night when all eyes gazed thy way, Thy bearing equal in disdainful grace To his who courted thee--thy sovereign's son.

MARIA. Yea, so? And yet it was not pride I felt, Nor consciousness of self, nor vain delight In the world's envy;--something more than these, Far deeper, sweeter--What have I said? My brain Is dull with sleep. 'T is only now I feel The weariness of so much pleasure.

RIBERA (rising). Well, Go we within. Yes, I am late to work; We squander precious moments. Thou, go rest, And waken with fresh roses in they cheeks, To greet our royal guest. [Exeunt.]