Then they put me upon a gallant steedCaparisoned most splendidly—they rode,
Cousins and many others by my side.
And so I came here, from whence I now go....
[She has leaned back and looked up at the glittering stars upon the black sky—she shudders].
I wanted something else—
[She searches her memory.]
In Bergamo where I was taught to walk
Upon the path that brought me here, I was
Often—most frequently through pride,—and now
I am contrite and would go to confession
For all those errors, and some graver ones;—
When I [She ponders.]—three days after Saint Magdalen Was riding homeward from the chase with him. This man, here, who's my husband—others too— Upon the bridge an old lame beggar lay. I knew that he was old and ill and sore And there was something in his tired eyes Reminded me of my dead father—but Nevertheless—only because the one Riding beside me touched my horse's bridle, I did not pull aside, but let the dust My horse kicked up, blind, choke that poor old man. Yes, so close I rode that with his hands He had to lift aside his injured leg. This I remember, this I now regret.
Braccio. The one beside you held your horse's bridle? [He looks at her.]
Dianora [answers his look, understands him, says trenchantly]:
Yes! Then as often since—as often since—
And yet how rarely after all!
How meager is all joy—a shallow stream
In which you're forced to kneel, that it may reach
Up to your shoulders—
Braccio.
Of my servants who,—of all your women,
Who knew of these things?
Dianora [is silent].
Braccio [makes a disdainful gesture].
Dianora.
Falsely, quite falsely, you interpret now
My silence. How can I tell you who might know?—
But if you think that I am one of those
Who hides behind her hireling's her joy,
You know me ill. Now note—note and take heed.
Once may a woman be—yes, once she may
Be as I was for twelve weeks—once she may be
If she had found no need of veil before,
All veiled, protected by her own great pride
As by a shield—she once may rend that veil,
Feel her cheeks crimson, burning in the sun.
Horrible she, who twice could such a thing!
I'm not of these—that surely you must know.
Who knew?—Who guessed? I never hid my thoughts?
Your brother must have known—just as you knew,
Your brother just as you. Ask him, ask him!
[Her voice is strange, almost childlike, yet exalted.]
That day—'twas in July, Saint Magdalen
Francesco Chieregati's wedding day—
That nasty thing upon your hand came then,
Came on that day. Well, I remember too
We dined out in the arbor—near the lake,
And he sat next to me, while opposite
Your brother sat. Then passing me the fruit,
Palla did hold the heavy gold dish
Of luscious peaches so that I might take.
My eyes were fastened on his hands—I longed
To humbly kiss his hands, there,—before all.
Your brother—he's malicious and no fool—
Caught this my glance, and must have guessed my thought.
He paled with anger.—Sudden came a dog,
A tall dark greyhound brushed his slender head
Against my hand—the left one by my side,—
Your stupid brother kicked in furious rage
With all his might, the dog—only because
He could not with a shining dagger pierce
Me and my lover. I but looked at him.
Caressed and stroked the dog, and had to laugh
[She laughs immoderately and shrilly in a way that threatens to be a scream, or to break into tears at any moment.]
Braccio [seems to listen].
Dianora [also listens. Her face expresses horrible tension. Soon she cannot bear it, begins to speak again almost deliriously].
Why whosoever saw me walk would know!
Walked I not differently? Did not I ride
Ecstatically? I could look at you
And at your brother and this gloomy house
And feel as light as air, floating in space.
The myriad trees seemed all to come to me
Filled with the sunlight dancing toward me,
All paths were open in the azure air—
Those sunlit paths were all the roads to him.
To start with fright was sweet—he might appear
From any corner, any bush or tree—
[Her language becomes incoherent from terror, because she sees that Braccio has drawn the curtains behind him close. Her eyes are unnaturally wide open—her lips drawn more constantly.]
Braccio [in a tone that the actor must find for himself, not loud, not low, not strong, nor yet weak, but penetrating].
If I, your husband,
