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diff --git a/34196-8.txt b/34196-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6ea14d --- /dev/null +++ b/34196-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3000 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Porzia, by Cale Young Rice + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Porzia + +Author: Cale Young Rice + +Release Date: November 2, 2010 [EBook #34196] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PORZIA *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + +PORZIA + +BY + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +AUTHOR OF + +"A NIGHT IN AVIGNON," "YOLANDA OF CYPRUS," "CHARLES DI TOCCA," "DAVID," +"MANY GODS," "NIRVANA DAYS," "FAR QUESTS," "THE IMMORTAL LURE," ETC. + + +GARDEN CITY + +NEW YORK + +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + +MCMXIII + + + + +_Copyright, 1913, by_ + +CALE YOUNG RICE + +_All rights reserved, including that of translation into Foreign +Languages, including the Scandinavian._ + + + + +To + +GILBERT MURRAY + +_Poet, Dramatist, and Master-Interpreter of a great literature_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +Some years ago while writing "A Night In Avignon" the thought came +to me of framing two other plays that should deal respectively with +the Renaissance spirit at its height and decadence, as that play had +dealt with it at its beginning. For the great human upheaval that +came intoxicatingly to Italy during the fourteenth, fifteenth and +sixteenth centuries is so full of ęsthetic contrast and glamor as +to be peculiarly suitable for the doubly exacting purposes of poetic +drama. + +"Giorgione," the second of these plays to be written, was published in +1911 with three other plays in a volume entitled "The Immortal Lure," +and like "A Night In Avignon" was received with such kindness as to +encourage me to write the third, here presented under the name of +"Porzia." + +This last play, whose period is that of "decadent Humanism," or as +Symonds prefers to call it, of "The Catholic Reaction," is laid in +Naples, where the passions of men, more than freed from the long +domination of the Church and the Hereafter, seemed to reach in their +grasp at this life almost incredible heights and depths of excess. +And yet from amid this excess, as from a rank and unweeded garden, +were springing into flower many seeds of modern intellectual +enfranchisement, as the achievements of Bruno and his contemporaries +witness. + +I need only add that I have sought to use materials that would be true +to the time of this final portrayal, and that I therefore trust it may +be understood as an organic member of the group to which it belongs. + +C. Y. R. + +Louisville, Kentucky, June, 1912. + + + + + ACT I + + CHARACTERS + + RIZZIO DI ROSSI _A young Leader of the Literati at Naples, + suspected of heresy_ + OSIO _His Brother_ + PORZIA _His Wife_ + ALOYSIUS _Her Uncle, a Physician_ + BIANCA _Her Cousin, a Florentine, once betrothed to Osio_ + GIORDANO BRUNO _A young Dominican, also heretical_ + MONSIGNOR QUERIO _An Officer of the Inquisition_ + TASSO _A Poet_ + MARINA _A Sicilian serving Porzia_ + MATTEO _Serving Rizzio, later Osio_ + _Dancers from Capri, Musicians, Guards of the Inquisition, etc._ + + TIME--_About 1570_ + + + + + PORZIA + + + SCENE: _A portion of the house, terrace and garden + of Rizzio on his wedding day at Naples. It is so + situated as to command a view of the city, the + blue Bay with Capri set like a topaz in it, the + Vesuvian coast, and the Mountain itself--rising + like a calm though unappeasable monitor against + the land's too sensual enchantment._ + + _The house, a white corner of which is visible + along the right, has large doors toward the back + giving upon the terrace. A vine-clad terrace wall, + several feet above the level of the terrace, but + much above that of the street without, runs across + the rear to a cypress-set gate in the centre, and + on into the lustrous Spring foliage of ilex, + myrtle and orange._ + + _A pedestaled image of the Virgin against the + house, a statue of Pan before a bower opposite, + and several stone seats forward, are decked with + orange blossoms that glow in the light of late + afternoon._ + + _Music, reveling, and laughter are heard, muffled, + within. Then amid a louder burst of them Osio strides + angrily forth. He is followed in argumentative elation + by Rizzio--clothed in Greek raiment, a book in his + hand--and by Bruno._ + + _Osio_ (_as they come down_). Proof from the teeth of aliens and fools + And infidels that follow their own reason? + I want no proof! your books should burn in Hell! + + _Rizzio_ (_gaily_). Because they glorify the stars in heaven? + + _Osio._ I say they are heresy! + + _Rizzio._ And I say truth! + + [_Uplifts volume._ + + That were your ears not stopped with sophistries + And Jesuitry you would adjudge divine! + + [_Tosses it down._ + + _Bruno._ Ai, Signor Osio, there's no denying! + + [_Porzia appears anxiously at the door._ + + We need but look, + To learn that stars are worlds + Swung out upon infinitudes of space. + And as for earth-- + Tho Christ shed blood upon it-- + 'Tis but a pilgrim flame among them all. + + [_Porzia leaves door._ + + _Osio_ (_turning upon him_). And you, a monk, will say so to + the Church + And to the Holy Office? + + _Bruno_ (_in humorous alarm_). God forbid! + + _Osio._ And you, Rizzio, who on your wedding-day, + Mid rites of Venus + And revels to Apollo, + Wear pagan robes--and prink others in them-- + + _Rizzio._ Ho, others! meaning Porzia? + + _Osio._ I say-- + + [_Mirth within._ + + _Rizzio_ (_laughing at him_). What, what, my merry raging brother, + more? + That Pan is not your god, whom I but now + Besought for inward beauty and truth of soul? + No, no, he is not, by Vesuvius! + + _Osio._ I say-- + + _Rizzio._ That Plato and the ancients are + A plague which only the Pope can purge from earth? + + [_Again laughing._ + + Ai! to the flames with them, and with all fairness! + + _Osio._ I say that you-- + + _Rizzio._ Hey, yea! that I who fall + Not on my knees to mitred villainy-- + Or cringe to crosiered craft-- + And yet whose life is lit for truth and freedom-- + Am viler far than you + Who take your pleasure and pay it with confession? + Who think the Devil with faith would be no Devil? + + [_Porzia again appears with Bianca._ + + You hear it, Bruno? + + _Osio._ I say there is one thing + You shall not do! + + _Rizzio._ So-ho! my lordly brother, + My breaker of betrothals--if not creeds-- + And that is what? + + _Osio._ I will protect her from it! + + _Rizzio._ Her? + + _Osio._ Porzia! from the passion of your lies! + + [_Astonishment._ + + _Rizzio_ (_stung, staring_). By ... all the saints and fiends + and incubi + That ever infested night and nunneries! + What frenzy now is biting at your brain! + + [_Before him._ + + Is she your wife, so to concern your care? + + [_They face, pale._ + + _Porzia_ (_who sees, and with Bianca comes quickly, winningly down_). + Heresy! heresy! truth and heresy! + Are there no other words in all the world + To pour as wine + Upon a wedding-day!-- + Are these your ways, my newly wedded lord, + To leave me, an hour's bride, away from home-- + From my dear uncle's home-- + With but a friend or two for comforting-- + And bandy words of other stars than those + You swear to see when gazing in my eyes! + + _Rizzio_ (_responsively_). My Porzia! + + _Porzia._ No, no! I'll not forgive you! + For is it not ill boding to our bridals + You quarrel over the heavens--and not me! + + [_As he laughs._ + + My beauty, he says, this husband I have taken, + Is life--and yet ere 'tis an hour his + Forgets to live on it!--and Osio, + The brother of him,-- + E'en Osio there-- + + _Rizzio_ (_gay again_). Who swears he will protect you! + + [_Osio starts._ + + _Porzia._ Protect? + + _Rizzio._ Against the heresy of robes + Of pagan fashion--and against your husband! + + [_Constraint. Porzia sees Bianca flush._ + + _Porzia._ I do not understand--unless you jest, + As oft--too oft you do! + Or mean perchance Bianca ... unto whom + He was betrothed + And whom he would, this breath, + Be wooing again, were _I_, not _words_, your bride! + + [_Then winningly again, as Marina enters._ + + But see, here is Marina! the dance awaits! + + [_Music is heard._ + + Let us go in and give ourselves to Joy, + For Misery is quick enough to take us, + If first we do not wed us to her rival! + Is it not so? + + _Rizzio_ (_with passion_). Or sun has never shone! + So in! the tarantelle! (_as Tasso enters_) And then a song + From Messer Tasso, who would be divine, + + [_Greets him._ + + Did he love Venus as he fears the Church, + Apollo as he shuns the Inquisition! + In!--Osio, will you come? + + _Osio._ I will not. + + _Rizzio._ Then + Dance with your own mad humors and delusions + Here to Vesuvius and to the sea,-- + Or to Bianca plead your pardon! + (_To the rest_) Come! + + [_Seizes blossoms blithely._ + + For in this world there's but one heresy, + Denial of the divinity of Joy! + + [_Throws sprays over Porzia, takes her hand and they go singing. + All follow, but Osio and Bianca._ + + _Osio_ (_when their steps have died; in cold rage_). + You shall hear more of this, my pretty brother! + Prater of pagan doubts! + Whom--but that God may use it--I would curse + For the resemblance that our mother gave us! + For, by the living blood of San Gennaro, + In yon Duomo, the scoffing siren song + Of heresy that swells in you shall cease, + Tho it shall take the sweat of the rack to hush it! + You shall hear more!... + + _Bianca_ (_who has stood long indignant_). + And others shall hear more! + + [_Her voice breaking as she turns on him._ + + Others who fix upon me this affront + Of broken and humiliate betrothals! + + [_As he attempts to speak._ + + Yes! you have made of me a thing of shame + Here in the eyes + Of those who're alien to me! + That you have loved me not--or love me less + Than once you did, too well I came to know-- + I--with the blood in me of the Medici!-- + And now it is open prate!... But do you think + The women of my city want resentment, + Or less than these sun-lusting ones of Naples + Know how to cool their wrath? + + _Osio._ I think you mad-- + In a mad maze-- + And yield it no concern; + Nor shall--(_meaningly_) until a thing you know is done. + As to betrothals, give your memory breath: + Ours was agreed to end as either willed. + + [_Goes from her to gate and looks expectantly out._ + + _Bianca_ (_as he returns_). And you, weary of it, have utterly + Chosen to end it? + + [_Sits._ + + _Osio._ Have I so affirmed? + + _Bianca_ (_springing up_). I will not have evasions, Osio! + Shiftings and turnings + Radiant of hopes + That torture expectation till it breaks. + + [_Again sitting._ + + And yet--perchance it is as well they come + Now ... while there yet is time for more withdrawals. + + _Osio_ (_starting_). More? + + _Bianca._ For--I fear all trust in you is folly; + And that the heresy of Rizzio + Which I agreed with you to take unto + Monsignor Querio-- + + _Osio_ (_clenching_). Shall not be taken? + + [_She rises._ + + Not! but you leave the brunt to me alone? + + _Bianca._ You purpose more, I think, than to restrain him. + + _Osio._ And you more than abjuring! You would gaze + Upon his godless schisms, ... + Upon the naked luring of his lies! + + _Bianca._ No! Tho the beauty of them-- + + _Osio._ Beauty! beauty! + + [_Striking the Pan near him._ + + That wind of infidelity from Hell + He blows out of his lips do you call beauty! + No!--and he with his poets and philosophers, + His Platos + And star-mad Copernicas, + And that Dominican, Giordano Bruno, + For whom the stake to flames will yet be lit, + Shall learn you are too late in your relenting! + + _Bianca_ (_stricken_). Too ... late! + + _Osio._ His heresies shall reap their due. + + _Bianca_ (_death-pale_). Which means--that you already have revealed + them! + Have sent unto Monsignor Querio + To-day-- + Rizzio's wedding-day!-- + For that + It was you sought out Matteo, who, pledged + Unto Marina, + As were you to me, + Has broke his troth?... + And now, now you await him?--O was not + Your promise to me that a week should pend + Ere any step? + + _Osio._ I will not lose my soul, + + [_Turns away._ + + And dallying is the feebleness of fools. + + _Bianca._ And will lies save it--tho they be for Heaven!-- + To one who nigh has lost her soul for you? + + [_When he does not answer, more penetratively._ + + We have been friends, Osio, long been friends, + And, woman that I am, I would 'twere more, + But in this I suspect-- + + _Osio._ Enough! we prate! + + [_Rankling, uneasily._ + + I say enough. + + _Bianca._ And I say all too little, + + [_Bitterly._ + + Until I tell you now plain to your face, + And to your heart + Plunging toward this passion, + That not alone a hate of heresy + Is haunting you to it, but that the lips + And eyes and brows and soul of-- + + _Osio._ Will you cease! + + _Bianca._ I tell you that you love her--Porzia! + And veer but to the vision of her face! + + _Osio_ (_who after strangling silence finds words_). + If you say that, Bianca, ever again + Or if, by all the demons that Avernus + Pours out upon the black Phlegraean fields, + You hint it or suggest it to her, till-- + + _Bianca._ Till you achieve her! and have wrapped the rites + Of the Church round your achieving? + Till you have severed her from Rizzio-- + Have swept her from perdition-- + Into your swathing arms! I say you shall not! + Me you have set aside, but there an end! + + [_Starts toward door._ + + _Osio._ Stop! whither do you go? + + _Bianca._ To call them! call! + And to betray your treachery--and mine! + + [_Calling._ + + Rizzio! Porzia! Rizzio! + + _Osio._ Maledictions! + + [_Seizing her wrists._ + + Will you become a dagger, and not know, + Stiletto that you are, what thing you stab! + + _Bianca._ The infatuation festering within you! + Till, deaf with the desire of it and dream, + You cannot tell their voice from Deity's. + + [_Calls again._ + + Rizzio! Porzia! Tasso! + + [_The music ceases._ + + _Rizzio_ (_within; startled_). It was Bianca! + + [_Hastening to door with the rest crowding closely after._ + + How? what? you called? what moves you?--Osio? + + [_Looks around._ + + Was some one here? what is it? speak!... Bianca? + What burns you? + + _Bianca._ You shall hear! It must be told. + Yes, yes!... (_Struggling to say it_) ... + And with no leavening delay of words. + We ... I ... You must be gone from here at once; + At once--for there is peril. + + _Rizzio._ Pah-ho! peril? + Now, Scylla and the Sibyl and Charybdis! + What megrim have you had? + + _Bianca._ None--for doubting; + Or any, it matters not, if you will go, + And quickly, trusting reason--as you boast to; + For I have heard-- + + _Rizzio._ Have heard what and from whom? + + [_Again looks around._ + + _Bianca._ There was one here who said Monsignor Querio + Knows of your excommunicant delight + In books that are forbid-- + And ... of your heresies! + + _Porzia_ (_in quick dismay_). The Inquisition! + You mean--he may be sought by it and seized, + Held in the trammels of it for a truth + That...! Do you mean, Bianca, Osio, + That now, at any hour--?... Oh, he must go! + + [_Hears noise at gate._ + + And quickly! In, Rizzio, in, for they--! + + [_The gate opens and Matteo entering stops amazed and alarmed._ + + _Rizzio_ (_with laughing relief_). Now, now, do you not see your + apprehension! + Is Matteo the Inquisition! Is + He then the prison that has come to seize me? + Fie, fie, Bianca, with your fears that mar + Again the bridal beauty of this hour, + And crowd with quiverings the bliss of it! + No more of them!--(_to dancers_) Hither! and wind your maze! + Again take up the dance! + + _Porzia._ No, Rizzio, no! + For now delight would die under our feet, + And we but trample on it! No! Dismiss them + Back now to Capri!... + More than the woman fear within me warns it. + For you have been o'er bold--not vainly, nay, + For truth, I know, must dare--but there may be + More in this than you think. + + _Rizzio._ And ere it rises + I cravenly must quench the altar-fires + That I attend--and our half-wedded joys? + No! no! More revels! + Till we shall utterly uncloud our bliss + And leave remembrance not a stain upon it! + A song, Tasso, a song! + The taunting one that swept us into laughter! + How runs it? did it not begin with Naples? + (_Recalls it._) + + Naples sins and Torre pays, + (Torre del Greco!) + Who fears the earthquake all her days! + (Torre del Greco!) + Who.... + + [_Forgets._ + + Who sits beneath Vesuvius + And shrives the castaways of us! + Naples sins and Torre pays, + (Torre del Greco!) + + On, on with it! Come Porzia!--On, on. + + _Tasso_ (_who has stood shrinking_). Ah, Signor, no; I fear; + I cannot; pray + Your pardon. I must go. + + _Rizzio._ Go! + + _Tasso._ I would not + Offend the Church--who is the Bride of Christ. + + _Rizzio_ (_unaffected_). Then off with you, unworthy follower + Of Virgil, + And of fire-veined Ariosto,-- + Of singers who have flung their hearts to courage, + As yet we shall fling ours! (_Tasso goes._) For even Bianca + And Osio + Must rue now their alarm, + And help us back from it to revelry. + + [_As he turns to them, then to all._ + + What, none of you? no heart of joy about me? + + _Porzia_ (_striving for abandon_). Yes, Rizzio!... tho I would have + you fly; + For bodingly I breathe the breath of evil! + + [_With forced lightness._ + + A dance, then! + Again weave its delight! + + [_Dancers show cheer._ + + For to your want mine is attuned, and what + Is music to it shall o'ermaster me! + And not alone my feet shall follow, but + The Truth you fly to will I wing to attain!-- + Tho stars seem to my simple sight but candles + Upon the altar of God, I'll think them worlds, + If to your soul they seem so; and for the rest-- + + [_A knock brings consternation, this time to all. The dancers + fall to crossing themselves, some kneeling. As they do so + the gate is thrown open and Querio enters; he is followed + by several guards._ + + _Querio_ (_advancing; amid awe_). In the name of the Vicar of God + who sits at Rome, + And of the Holy Office, I arrest + The giver of these pagan rites and revels. + + [_Guards step to Rizzio's side; he stands speechless._ + + _Porzia_ (_stunned_). Oh,... Oh! + + _Rizzio_ (_hoarsely_). And at whose urgence, my lord Prelate, + + [_Starts forward._ + + I ask you at whose urgence this is done! + This deed of churchly duty!... Yes, in justice + I seek; for there has been + Some traitor and perhaps a liar.--Osio? + Bianca? (_fiercely_) half, half I believe 't was you! + + [_All are appalled._ + + _Porzia._ No, no, Rizzio!... no!... what are you saying! + + [_Restrainingly._ + + Will you requite injustice with a worse? + + [_To Querio, who is unmoved._ + + Monsignor, this in truth is hunting haste, + To search him out + Upon his wedding-day, + And bind him with the very wreaths of it! + Could you not wait an eve, a night, until + To-morrow when his nuptials would be o'er! + + _Querio._ Who weds two brides is bigamist, Signora. + When he divorces heresy accuse me. + But now say your farewells, + And with a moment's privacy: that can + I grant, that and no more: the rest's with Rome. + + [_Retires to rear--as do all but the two._ + + _Porzia_ (_whom dread now begins to overwhelm_). + My Rizzio! my own! I cannot bear it! + O why did you not go, delaying till + This fate has fallen + Now like a pall upon us! + I fear! I fear!... + To be so wedded, ere I am a wife, + Here in this city of dark lawless passions! + + [_Unrestrainedly._ + + Ah, can you not recant? + Deny at once and so-- + + _Rizzio._ Porzia! + + _Porzia._ Nay! + And yet to have you leave me-- + Ere any nuptial night has hung our couch, + Ere I have lain beside you in the dark + And like Madonna dreamed of motherhood! + Ah, ah, I cannot!... + + _Rizzio_ (_with a thought_). Then--listen to me. + + [_Osio starts, watching him._ + + I will return to you! + + _Porzia._ Return? + + _Rizzio._ Perchance. + It may be. For with florins to the guard-- + With friendly gold-- + May he not be persuaded + To bring me hither to you, for an hour + At midnight--tho it be but for an hour? + + [_They look at each other._ + + _Querio_ (_suspiciously, coming down_). Enough, Signor; the hour + is running late. + And there are here, may be, + + [_Sinisterly._ + + Some who are avid now to be at vespers. + + _Porzia_ (_embracing Rizzio_). Then go, my lord; farewell, and fear + not for me, + Since I shall toil only for your release. + + [_He goes, with Querio and guard. Porzia quails, then lets + Marina lead her into the house. All follow but Bianca, + Osio, and Matteo at gate._ + + _Bianca_ (_as the twilight begins, to Osio_). + Now that you have achieved so much, what more? + + [_He does not answer; she also turns into house._ + + _Osio_ (_whom a turmoil of passions is tearing_). + What more?... God in His Heaven shall decide!... + Doubts have I had--like swine of hell within me-- + But now He shall decide-- + If she's to be the mother of heretics ... + Or if I, who acclaim the Creed, shall have her! + + [_Calls._ + + Matteo! + + _Matteo._ Signor--(_advancing_) here. + + _Osio._ You have done well. + And from to-night I take you to my service, + With wages that shall gild you from a want, + And with the benediction of the Church. + But there is one thing more: + Follow Monsignor Querio to the prison, + Then to Signora Porzia return-- + And say her husband sent you + To bid her be in the bower there at midnight. + + _Matteo_ (_staring_). But Signor, will she come? + + _Osio._ Say that she is + To speak no word--but keep to silence: go. + + [_With fixed face, when the latch clicks behind him._ + + God shall decide, ... + For if she does not know + My arms from _his_, then, it shall be a sign + That to them and my bed ... she was predestined. + + [_The dark grows. He turns soon to go, and the curtain falls.... + But rises again at once and it is midnight; with only dim + lights from the silent, sleeping city. As it does so Porzia + with Marina comes out of the house. They pause and listen, + Marina half-anxiously._ + + _Porzia_ (_drawing free_). Return and have no fear, he soon will come, + And bade me be alone there in the bower. + The night is like a spell to draw him to me. + + _Marina._ Signora--! + + _Porzia._ Like a spell of living love. + + [_Crosses over, as one in a dream, and enters the bower. Marina + goes, the gate opens, and Osio silently enters, coming down + into the bower amorously. A long silence ... then slowly + the Curtain._ + + + + + ACT II + + + A YEAR HAS ELAPSED + + SCENE: _A sala, or hall, in the house of Rizzio. Its + spacious walls and ceiling are frescoed with + Virgilian scenes of a simpler and more beautiful + kind than was usual to the decaying art of the + period, and its high-arched open doors in the rear + look out upon the terrace of Act I, toward the + city, the Bay, Vesuvius--the whole magic curve + of the haunting coast._ + + _Several antique terminal-statues, the bodies of + which end strangely in their pedestals, stand on + either side these doors, and about the hall a + Venus and other rare objects of virtu recovered + from the past are mingled with the furnishings of + the room, which, arranged for joy and beauty, + seems somehow sad when unoccupied, as now, tho + the Neapolitan sun is shining brightly in from + the blue._ + + _An arrased doorway right leads thro a passage to + the street gate, and one left to the penetralia of + the house, from which Marina enters deeply + troubled. She looks back, shakes her head, saying, + "O my poor lady!" then crosses to door right, + listens, and hearing nothing goes slowly to door + rear, where she waits, singing sadly_: + + Shepherds down the mountain wind, + Wild pipes play in the street. + O Sicily, my Sicily, + I long for thee, my Sweet! + + Once a year God takes his joy, + And that great joy is Spring, + He weds earth clad in blossom-robes, + For His enrapturing! + + [_She stops, listening, then resumes_: + + Once a year God takes his joy, + And that-- + + [_She stops again hearing sounds at the gate, then is startled + to paleness by the voice of Matteo; and as she listens a + stern strong determination takes her._ + + _Matteo._ Basta! am I to pass! son of a dog! + Snout of a swine! knave! door-bestriding fool! + Have I not matters to her from my master, + To the Signora, from her husband's brother? + + [_A scuffle._ + + The Devil's scullion feed you + On flame, until your liver shrivels black! + + [_He has pushed past and enters the Hall insolently._ + + O-hé! who's here! I come from Signor Osio! + + [_Sees Marina._ + + The little Sicilian? Luck then is my slave! + + [_Going to her._ + + Well, pretty fig! my little red pomegranate! + My fair forbidden fruit--pluckt in the moon! + I've come ... (_stopped by her mien_) But, + Blood of the Holy Sepulchre! + + [_Looks around uncertainly._ + + What thing has happened here? + + _Marina._ That, Matteo, + + [_Speaks solemnly._ + + Which yet I do not know, and which I pray + Madonna you may be as ignorant of. + + _Matteo._ Eh?... I, my beauty? + + _Marina._ You--who left this house + A year ago to-night with Signor Osio, + Left suddenly, + To serve his wealth and pleasure, + And who will leave it now as instantly, + If he is not in need--of absolution. + + _Matteo._ Of ... (_starting_) absolution? Body, now, of Bacchus! + Does he not go to the Mass--and if he does not + Am I a priest + To know his need of purging? + Or if he sins must I be damned with him? + + _Marina._ No, so the way from it-- + + _Matteo._ The way! the way! + I want no way, but in unto your mistress. + Am I not sent here to her with commands? + Ecco! and must I turn with them upon me, + And say a wench denied me? + Or that I feared + Perchance to catch the fever + Of heresy your master's shackled with? + Pah, but you jest, my ruby rose of Aetna-- + + [_Insinuatingly._ + + Whom yet I will not say but I will wed, + Tho you are from that Paynim-breeding isle + Of Sicily. You jest: so, in with you. + I seek your lady. + + _Marina._ Seek ... and shall find more. + + _Matteo._ More! (_Struck by her tone._) And from what and whom? + + _Marina._ I wait Aloysius, + The leech. + + _Matteo._ And that is what I am to fear? + + _Marina._ The child is ill. + + _Matteo_ (_starting_). The child! + + _Marina._ My lady's child. + + [_With tenser solemnity._ + + For there has come of late into her mind + A dread that has dried life within her breasts. + + _Matteo_ (_who pales_). And am I God, woman, to keep dread from her? + + _Marina._ Tending to it a strangeness comes upon her, + And with the sudden seizure of it, fear-- + Shudders of horror, instincts of some evil + That she somehow has suffered, or committed-- + + [_Pauses._ + + _Matteo_ (_paler_). What do you mean! + + _Marina._ As one within a trance. + + _Matteo._ And do you mean--? + + _Marina._ A mood seizes her flesh + That creeps against her will whene'er unto her + The little one is pressed. + + _Matteo_ (_trembling_). This is a lie! + + _Marina._ She cannot look upon it, but with terror, + That brings remorse + Awakening more terror! + The blight of heresy, she strives to think + Of her lord's heresy is sent upon her, + Or of her own refusal, it may be, + To wed the Convent, not the carnal world. + + _Matteo._ To you she said this? + + _Marina._ Ah! and Madonna! her sleep! + She walks with eyes wide open. + + _Matteo._ I say you lie. + You do! as if Eternity were not,-- + + [_Seizes her wrist._ + + To frighten me and Signor Osio! + + _Marina_ (_coldly, stingingly_). And yet you understand? ha, + understand? + And hoarsely stare at words upon my lips + That should be meaningless as moony madness? + You penetrate + What not the Pope himself, + Nor any could, but with a guilty knowledge? + There's villainy I say, and you are in it, + The tool of a blind villain, who should be + Where now his brother rots, but that the Church + Is no more Christ's! + Ah, ah! my nails could tear + Your hated false caresses from my flesh, + Your kisses from my memory and fling them + Upon your wicked heart. And, for your master, + The Virgin strangle him! She--or another! + + [_Meaningly._ + + Another! + + _Matteo_ (_startled_). What? what say you? + + _Marina._ That--one--will! + For do not think such sins go unavenged. + + [_Starts to go._ + + _Matteo._ I say, what do you hint! Stand! there is more! + + [_Seizes her and clasps her to him._ + + More! and I'll have it, by the crater of Hell! + More--and your lips shall tell it with a kiss. + + _Marina._ Off me! (_Struggling._) And if you do not get from here-- + + [_Breaks free._ + + Before Signora Bianca-- + + _Matteo._ Ah! Ahi! + It has to do then with the Florentine? + Who is as pagan as that devil Venus, + + [_Points to statue._ + + Yet prates to priests as subtly as my master + Who will not play Love with her? + By the Passion and Blood of God, has she again + Gone jealous to Monsignor Querio, + To get undone the doors of the Inquisition, + So that your master...? has she? + + _Marina._ They are open!-- + O would I who o'erheard might tell my lady!-- + And Signor Rizzio goes free to-day! + Free to return here unto his own home! + Free to cast from him a year's ignorance, + A year's imprisonment beyond the pale + Of any word or message + And learn how on his wedding-day when he + Was seized and on his wedding-night when he + Expected to return.... At that you quail? + Begone then, or-- + + _Matteo_ (_gnashing_). The jealousy of women! + Their hearts are devil-pots that ever boil.-- + But this is cud for Signor Osio, + So get you in at once unto your mistress + And say-- + + + _Enter_ BIANCA _suddenly in agitation_ + + _Bianca_ (_looking about, with alarm_). Where is my cousin? + (_Calls_) Porzia! Porzia!-- + She must return at once--unto the child: + Her mood is perilous and must be pent. + + [_As they stare._ + + Did you not see her? (_Impatient._) Am I Proserpine + To make such gaping ghosts of you? I say, + Was she not here? + + _Marina._ Signora--? + + _Bianca._ She hung, haunted, + + [_Searching again._ + + By the child's cradle--there a little since, + But suddenly rose up and fled from it, + Saying--she would wed death! + + _Marina._ Wed death! Signora! + + _Bianca._ Yes; I was near. Her words--that struck me stark. + I could not speak. Do you know aught of this, + You who have seen these dark distractions in her? + Or does this ... drone of Signor Osio? + + [_Toward Matteo._ + + What brings him here? + + _Matteo._ Marina there. + + _Bianca._ Ha, yes! + + [_At door rear._ + + The honey from that flower--but what else? + + [_At door right._ + + Marina, yes, for you have been with her + Too often under the moon, but there is more + Behind you than yourself. Your master has + Not sent you? + + _Matteo._ Yes, Signora. To your beauty + He sends salute; and to your lady cousin + Who ... O Signora, see! (_staring_) upon the terrace! + + [_He has broken off awestruck._ + + See, see! Oh, in her hand there is ... Oh!--oh! + + [_They turn and behold Porzia trancedly approaching, a stiletto + before her and her lips moving obliviously._ + + _Porzia._ And should I not, Madonna, if ... O should I? + Would you in heaven not assuage and shrive me? + Make the wound seem as holy as were Christ's? + Miraculously make-- + + _Bianca._ Porzia! + + _Porzia._ Make--(_dazed_) + + _Bianca._ Porzia, do you dream! + + _Porzia_ (_startled_). Bianca! (_dropping blade_) You? + + [_A pause._ + + _Bianca._ This speech to weapons! this distraction. What + And whence and why is it? Your child-- + + _Porzia_ (_quickly_). Yes, yes!... + + [_A little incoherent._ + + I went into the garden to wait Aloysius, + My uncle Aloysius, who is a leech. + I have not slept.... What is it I am saying? + + [_Seeing Matteo._ + + Is that one come to tell-- + + _Bianca._ He is the servant-- + Of Osio. + + _Porzia_ (_with recoil_). Of Osio?... Of Osio? + + [_Trembling._ + + _Matteo._ Signora, yes. He sends me with a message. + He begs that he may see you. + + _Porzia._ See? + + _Matteo._ Implores + That this strange shrinking from him and aversion, + This pale ... and unintelligible ... repulsion + You have of late-- + + _Porzia._ Go back to him! go, go! + + [_Struggling: with solemn abhorrence._ + + And say I cannot see him. He is my brother, + My husband's brother, + Whom I pray to honor. + And is much like my husband: + A likeness that unreasonably, it may be, + I shudder to look upon: and yet-- + + _Matteo._ He bade me + To say, Signora, nothing must prevent; + That it concerns-- + + _Porzia._ See him I will not, ever! + + [_With utter repugnance._ + + And cannot and should not tho he sought me in + That time which lies beyond eternity, + That space which is beyond the brink of all. + What thing it is haunting his heart I know not. + But in his presence all my flesh becomes + A shudder of horror, + All my soul a fear. + My husband's brother is he, my poor husband's, + But he.... Go, go!... and tell him that strange drawings + And strange repulsions pass the hearts of those + Whom grief has gathered upon; and that I who + Upon my wedding-day had torn from me-- + + [_Suddenly, uncontrollably._ + + Say, say I would he were not on the earth! + + _Bianca_ (_amazed, suspicious_). Porzia! what is this! + + _Porzia._ I know not: go! + + [_He goes, then Marina, fearful. An over-fraught pause._ + + _Bianca_ (_at length, jealously_). For this there is a reason--and + but one. + You love, you love him! + + _Porzia._ Love ... whom? + + _Bianca._ Osio! + Yet dare not so you draw him with denials, + Knowing that to repel is to entrain him. + + [_As Porzia stares, stupefied._ + + O mockery of it! fools my eyes were, fools, + That stood within my head and did not see! + To me he spoke of love--yearning for you, + And in me heard but echoes of you ... ever! + Yet, since you loved him, + Why unto his brother, + A heretic o'erturning God with stars, + Did you-- + + _Porzia_ (_sinking to a divan_). I pray you speak things possible, + Tho to your sight I seem and to my own + Like one unnatural beyond belief! + A child I have whom fever now is burning, + A husband all unhallowed in a prison ... + Tho to my dreams last night he seemed to come. + + [_Bianca starts._ + + And so you must forgive me if blind shrinkings, + That to your sight seem semblances of love, + Unhelpably o'ertake me. + + _Bianca._ Then--confess + Why Osio seeks you and why so you shun him? + And with the child why are your ways so wild? + You fear sometimes to touch it, + As if it were another's, or at your breast + Could only drink of horror. + + _Porzia_ (_rising_). Ah!... ah, ah! + + _Bianca:_ Love is it, love, I say, of Osio, + That motherhood itself cannot amend, + And Rizzio shall hear of it--this day. + + _Porzia._ He ... there in the darkness ... can hear naught! + Leave me, I pray, to wait Aloysius. + Why comes he not?... Ah, and why do you rend me? + For you would not indeed to Rizzio + Add demon doubts ... + Of me who am to him there in the night + Sun, moon and the white galaxy of stars + Such as not even Messer Bruno dreams.... + For, if you would, are you indeed Bianca + Who, as a child, sang with me under the olives + And cypresses; or watched with wonder eyes + The fisherman draw marvels from the deep, + Then homeward wing at eve to Ischia? + I cannot think it!... yet...! + + [_Again distraught._ + + O what is it I dread! what thing has changed + All natural thoughts within me to repugnance, + All instincts and desires into terror? + I cannot touch my flesh, but I turn cold + As if I had touched pollution, cannot press + My child unto my breasts, but ... true, Oh, true!... + A madness whispers in me, "Take it away!" + + [_Staring, hauntedly._ + + And too, and too ... in solitude the want + Of Rizzio imprisoned comes to me; + Yet when I reach for him I seem enclasped + By unknown arms ... in the sere dark, that ... Oh! + Now, now I feel them! off! + + [_A knock at the gate._ + + (_Starting_) Ah, ah, Aloysius!... + With healing! he at last! (_moving toward door_) Uncle, the child-- + + [_Stops rooted to the floor for Osio has suddenly entered. He + does not speak, nor she, but only Bianca, who looks at them, + uttering his name then turning goes._ + + _Osio_ (_at length, tortured_). You shut me from your presence and + your doors, + My messages return to me unopened, + My messengers unhonored--yet I've come, + For speak to you I must, and utterly! + + _Porzia_ (_gazing_). Lord Jesu! + + _Osio._ Ai, Lord Jesu! let Him hear! + For if ever He huddled in a Manger, + Or hung, a red atonement, on the Cross-- + If you are not soul-bound to heresy, + You must.... + + _Porzia._ Oh, oh! why are you here? + + _Osio._ Why?... Peace! + Can you not listen to me without terror + Not look upon me + Without eyes where awe + Sits like a murdered thing, or without hands + That flutter at your heart unfalteringly? + I am your brother. + + _Porzia._ I ... will hold you so. + + _Osio._ But more than sister are you to my breast. + + _Porzia._ Ah! + + _Osio._ More, and I would save you from the flames + That bind you to a heretic and Hell. + Nay, stay! do not start from me; stay, do not! + But hear me, for not that alone has led me, + Not that alone, + But love unbearable-- + Such as not any lips in all the world + Have sung, or any famed for it have breathed + Upon the pagan pages of a book: + For they were heathen all, in penance now + Upon the sulphur winds that sweep Inferno, + While I-- + + _Porzia_ (_whose look stops him_). While, you, you, inordinate, + Speak baseness so unto your brother's wife? + + _Osio._ His, no! no more! no more! for heresy + Has rent from him all rights, therefore I dare + To hunger for you, and to pledge the Pope + Will grant us dispensation-- + + _Porzia._ Oh! Oh, oh! + + [_Overwhelmed with loathing._ + + _Osio._ You will not heed it, will not come with me? + + _Porzia._ Madonna, wash his words out of my brain, + + [_Her hands lifted._ + + And from my memory purge their pollution! + (_To him_) Go, go!... + And may the poison of you never pass + Across my sight again. + + _Osio._ It will--to save you, + For mine you are--God wills it!--and ... have been! + + _Porzia._ Oh! + + _Osio._ Have!--it was predestined--by His breath. + Was he to see you mate a heretic, + Or from your body spring the Anti-Christ? + A year ago you wedded one, and I + Was ready with the hands of the Inquisition. + They seized him with his pagan pride upon him, + And from this house of feasting and of flowers + He went. You had a message brought from Matteo + Saying he would return to you at midnight. + I came, and in the darkness of the bower, + Which God made darker, + You took my arms for his!--were mine, were mine! + + _Porzia_ (_who has sunk to a seat, rising_). Never!--But now I know + what I have feared, + What dread it is invisibly has bound me-- + Invisibly, unvariably!... I know, + And so shall break it! + Your thought has been to shadow me about + With this unceasing thing, to make me so + Believe--and so obtain me! + Your voice, eyes, lips and being with this purpose + Have held my soul unswervably to fear, + But now it is free! free, free! + + _Osio._ And will be when + Rizzio comes? + + _Porzia._ Rizzio? + + _Osio._ Out of prison? + + [_As she gazes at him._ + + I tell you the child is mine! for Rizzio + Returned not to you. Mine, mine, and you must + Protect it and yourself. + + _Porzia._ From--?... do you mean? + O do you mean that he may come? that you + Expect him, O and soon? and that Bianca--? + + _Osio._ I mean no mysteries, but that the child + Is mine-- + And you may be-- + And all be well. + + _Porzia._ But he will come? you have some intimation? + Some waft of his release, some prescience? + But say it and I will forgive you all! + Say that my arms once more shall clasp him to me! + Say that my heart once more shall beat to his! + Say that my eyes once more shall drink the dawn + From his, and I-- + + _Osio._ Be still. For if you will not + Now, now be mine, one thing must be assured + Beyond the sway of peril: + It must be kept from him there is a child. + + _Porzia._ Never! but I will lay it in his arms, + Unto the cradle of his bosom bring it-- + While I have hands of purity to lift it-- + And-- + + _Osio._ Have him fling it forth? Hush! what is here? + + [_A knocking at the gate: amazed cries: then Rizzio's voice._ + + _Porzia._ Rizzio! Rizzio! Rizzio! + + _Rizzio_ (_without_). Porzia! Porzia! + + [_He enters, weak and worn, in tattered raiment, and comes down + to where she gazes too overcome to embrace him._ + + _Rizzio._ My Porzia! (_With a clasp._) O do I look upon you, + Not on some prison vision that will vanish + Between my arms to nothingness of air? + Some wan and hollow haunting of the night? + Look up into my soul and speak to me + With eyes that are incarnate songs of love! + Ah, what, you cannot? + The swiftness of my coming has undone you? + + _Porzia._ No, no! + + _Rizzio._ Then give reality to dreams, + Linking your lips to mine!... Oh, oh! at last! + At last I know I live + And am more than + A madness in miasmic night immured! + And that eternity of want can end-- + Upon your breast--within this house where--(_Seeing Osio_) You? + + [_With inexplicable antagonism._ + + _Osio._ I ... and I have no welcome for you, knowing + That heresy is still hot in your heart. + + _Rizzio._ For which you with accursčd joy are glad?... + + [_Osio goes rankling into garden._ + + What does he here, my Porzia? what does he? + + [_Troubled._ + + Has he been much with you? Sometimes there in + My fetters I have fought strange dreams of him, + Battled against him as against a brood + Of elemental horrors and contagion. + Yet when I would awake-- + + _Porzia_ (_clinging fearfully_). My Rizzio!... + + _Rizzio._ Ai, yours! when hope was darkest, when the links + Of wolvish steel were feeding on my bone. + + [_Holds out wrists._ + + Or like a python wound me as I slept. + + _Porzia._ The pity of my heart and lips shall heal them. + + [_With caresses._ + + _Rizzio._ They and the passion of you, and the peace + And beauty of your body and your soul, + That were torn from me at the very altar, + But now--purer for waiting--shall be mine. + + _Porzia_ (_trembling_). Yes, yes, Rizzio! + + _Rizzio._ Say, say it again! + For oh, the jealous fears that have defiled me, + The visions I have called a lie in vain, + The hot hands I have seen laid on your beauty! + + [_To her look of helplessness._ + + O say it! for you gaze--as if you could not! + As if ... O what is wringing you! You can + Not say it--that no arms but mine have held you, + No lips but mine have ever lingered, ever--? + + [_A pitiful cry of distress breaks from within, then a hurry of + feet and Marina rushes on anguished._ + + _Marina._ My lady! O my lady!... the child! the child! + + _Porzia_ (_swaying_). What is it? Speak! + + _Marina._ My lady, it is dead! + + [_A wild pause._ + + _Porzia._ Dead? dead? my child? my little one? my own? + My baby?... Oh; oh, oh!... oh, oh, oh, oh! + + [_She stretches her arms distractedly before her and goes._ + + _Rizzio_ (_who has staggered, dazed, and is frenziedly realizing_). + God, God, the madness ... is this then the madness.... + At last!... + Her child? her child? and I--never a husband? + She has a child and I am childless! I!... + Have I been tricked, beaten, betrayed, undone, + Duped by a lie of low inconstancy. + + [_To Marina._ + + Speak, quean! + + _Marina._ O sir, I know not what to say! + + _Rizzio._ Tho truth bays wild, fool-face! + + _Marina._ Sir, sir, I cannot! + But hold, I pray you! for she is ... she ... Ah! + + [_Has cried out, for the curtains have parted and Porzia is + entering--the dead child in her arms, her eyes gazing + sightlessly._ + + _Rizzio_ (_who looks at her, racked, laughs wildly, then rushes to + door_). At last, at last the heretic's in Hell! + + [_Breaks past Aloysius entering, and is gone._ + + _Marina_ (_to the leech_). O Signor Aloysius, my poor, poor lady! + + [_Weeping._ + + My lady! O what now, what now shall heal her! + + _Aloysius._ Go in, prepare her bed, and I will bring her. + In, in, I say! (_as she goes; to the mother_) Porzia! + + [_Gently._ + + [_She does not answer._ + + Come, Porzia! + + _Porzia._ Yes, yes; is the grave ready? + Then let the clod fall softly, and the shroud + Not wake him, for he sleeps. And let there be + Some orange blossoms too ... some orange blossoms! + + [_She permits him to lead her in, still gazing before her._ + + CURTAIN. + + + + + ACT III + + + NIGHT OF THE NEXT DAY + + SCENE: _The terrace of Act I, but lit wanly now by the + moon, whose sheen is cast like a pall over the + city and kindles the Bay to quivering silver. Thro + the open door of the house and from the window of + Porzia's chamber which is just above the image of + the Virgin, light falls streaming toward the Pan + and toward the deeply shadowed bower. A stone seat + is set to the front centre._ + + _Osio, haunted and desperate, stands without the + bower, watching Matteo who is stealthily coming + down from the pedestal of the Virgin where he has + climbed to listen, and who crosses the terrace to + him._ + + _Osio._ Her words! give me her words--and them alone! + What were they? + + _Matteo._ I could learn no more, Signor. + The fever is tossing her. + + _Osio._ To peril of death? + She is sinking now down into ceaseless Hell, + Where he shall follow? + Is swooning low to it? + And to eternal flame? + + _Matteo._ I do not know. + But burningly she sleeps. (_Uneasily._) Shall we not go? + + [_Looks around._ + + For if we here are found-- + + _Osio._ They have not brought her + The Sacrament? + + _Matteo._ No priest is there, Signor. + + _Osio._ The child, she asks for it? + + _Matteo._ I seemed to hear + Signora Bianca say that since the morning + When it was borne in secret to the tomb + She has not. + But still her moan's of Signor Rizzio, + Who has not yet returned, tho still they seek him. + + _Osio_ (_bitterly_). Her blood be on his head! upon his head! + And not on mine, that has not swayed to schism, + If death is calling now for her damnation. + No, I am pure of it! + + _Matteo._ But should he come? + + [_Again looks around._ + + _Osio._ I'll fear him not. Never! For odium + It were to God that I a moment should-- + Him black with unbelief! + But come he will not ... since he left deluded. + Or if he should a voice has pledged to me + Full absolution if-- + + _Matteo._ What, Signor? + + _Osio._ Peace! + He will not. So again mount up! + + _Matteo_ (_unwillingly_). Signor! + + _Osio._ Mount, mount, and strain the most to get me more. + + [_Matteo loathly crosses and again ascends the pedestal. But + scarcely has done so when a knock comes at the gate. He + steps down into the shadow of the image--Osio into bower. + Then Marina appears from the house hesitantly._ + + _Marina._ Who knocks? Signor Aloysius, is it you? + + _Aloysius._ Ai, ai! and weary: open! + + [_Being admitted._ + This day! this day! + The search till he was found; and then the toil-- + The patient physic poured + Vainly it seemed unto the proud or poor. + + [_Taking off medicine pouch._ + + But it at last is done. Now, the relief-- + He came reluctant? and to her outpoured + A lava of wild purpose and revenge + When he was told? + + _Marina._ He? (_staring_) Signor Rizzio? + You have not brought him? + + _Aloysius._ Brought? Is he not here? + + _Marina_ (_dismayed_). Signor! + + _Aloysius._ But how? but how? (_dropping pouch._) + Not he? and Bruno? + Who had been with him, + Whom he had but left + To search, sudden it seemed, for Osio? + Not Bruno! whom I pledged to find and lead him + Here to her--since we learned that Osio + Has fled from Naples? + + _Marina._ Signor, neither! none! + + [_Involuntarily._ + + O he must come, or she will die! + + _Aloysius._ ... Die?... + + _Marina._ New evils gather ever in vendetta! + + _Aloysius._ You run from them too rapidly to death, + Which comes but when it will--and not from sleep + In which I left her. + + _Marina._ But her sleep has grown + To fever that has flowed into her brain! + Her heart is full of moans, + Her lips of murmurs! + She tore the crucifix from off her neck + And flung it from her, saying that it was + The arms of Osio; and then cried out + That she was virgin and immaculately + Had borne a child, that now was laid in the tomb, + But should arise again. Then would she start + And say there is no God, but only stars, + But stars, a heaven of stars! For which Signora + Bianca ignorant arose and chid her. + + _Aloysius._ And all unduly did! This must be stayed, + Not made immedicable. + Go in; prepare the herbs that I left with you. + + [_She goes--as he stands pondering--past Bianca, who enters._ + + _Bianca_ (_pausing, then with resolute bitterness_). + So you have come and have not brought him? Well, + The insult of this secrecy must end, + The shrouding and affronting soil of it. + I'll sift in doubt no more, but have the truth. + + _Aloysius._ Signora? + + _Bianca._ O, fatality's in the world, + From atom to infinity it may be, + But there is also sinning. Which is this? + And whence is it + If she though sunk in sleep + Says ever "I must go into the bower!" + And ever with elusive lips "the bower!" + Whom would she meet? + + _Aloysius._ The bower? + + _Bianca._ Whom! or if + No guilt is in her why this grievous haunting? + + _Aloysius._ I will go to her. + + _Bianca_ (_angrily_). So to evade confessing? + To avoid granting + That it is Osio? + That it is he has been her paramour? + That he it is has plundered her with passion-- + Whose proof is the child + Which Heaven has struck dead? + Will go? Nor first deny + That rightly Rizzio has turned from her + And now perchance is seeking Osio---- + + [_Breaks off, for the gate opens and Rizzio slowly enters. A + deadly purpose is on him as he looks around._ + + _Rizzio_ (_at length_). You clothe my thought, + Bianca, in the flesh + Of speech that I have shunned: but we shall know---- + Soon know, for I have tracked him to this gate. + + [_To Aloysius, solemnly._ + + Where is he? + + _Aloysius_ (_amazed_). He?... Osio? + + _Rizzio._ So! reveal him! + + _Aloysius._ But--this is error!... he is gone from Naples! + + _Rizzio._ Or wrapped in lies is hidden here for her? + By the very God of the world, I say---- (_With restraint._) + But ... no! + + _Aloysius._ And "no" until you trust it! For her fate + Is not as you suppose. + + _Rizzio._ Nor his? Nor he! + This bigot whose religion's lechery? + This monk to whom licentiousness is God? + This monster I illimitably loathe? + + [_Searching as he speaks._ + + I say that he is here; that I will find him; + That, I have tracked him to you, and ... (_suddenly_) Aha! + + [_Discovers Matteo under image._ + + Aha! from Naples he is gone? from Naples? + + [_Drawing Matteo forth._ + + But leaves his shadow here? + + _Matteo_ (_terrified_). Signor! Signor! + + [_Cringes._ + + _Rizzio._ From Naples he is sped, but at the feet + Of the Virgin he adores drops this devotion? + + [_Slowly, terribly._ + + Unpitiable toad--of filth begotten! + Pander who should go down into the Pit + And be the go-between of burning lusts, + Where lurks he? + + _Matteo._ Signor! (_chokes_) Signor! I will show. + You shall have all; but let me live, Signor. + I have a father crippled who would starve + But for the gold I get.... + And she, Signora Porzia's innocent. + + _Rizzio._ And virgin too! with that obliteration + You'll clothe her! Heaven's Queen, do I not know + What Nature and conception are! + + _Aloysius_ (_trembling_). Ai, so! + And of them there is no denial here. + That she has given birth, herself has told you, + Herself.... The child _was_ hers, but---- + + _Rizzio._ Born of miracles + And of imaginations and of dreams? + Is this Judea + And a day divine, + Not Italy and unregeneration, + Where God deputes the world to Borgias? + The father of it was he--he and no other! + + _Aloysius._ But in her innocence she-- + + _Rizzio._ Yielded! Yielded! + And clung to him as the harlot moon to earth. + + _Aloysius._ No, no! + + _Rizzio._ Thro nights and nights! + + _Aloysius._ Never; but duped + And unaware she took his arms for yours, + Believed, tho by yon moon, I know not how, + Unless she was entranced, + That you had come to meet her in the bower, + And---- + + + MARINA _enters suddenly terrified_ + + _Marina._ Signor! Signor Aloysius! O quick! + O come to her! She has arisen! + + _Aloysius._ Risen! + + _Marina._ O, in her sleep! and will not to her bed + Return, but says with eyes empty of sight + That it is time---- + + _Aloysius._ For what? + + _Marina_ (_hesitant, distressed_). To ... meet him in + The bower! + + _Aloysius_ (_quickly_). I will come to her. + + _Rizzio_ (_burningly_). Ah! ah! + + [_Starts before him._ + + And drug her now with opiates to prevent her? + Or waken her and bid her to deny? + Did I not deem it? and will you feign further? + Did I not say that Osio is here? + There in the bower is he, there! and she + Has planned to meet him. + + _Marina._ Signor! no! no, no! + 'Tis you that she would meet! + + _Rizzio._ And not this croucher, + + [_Of Matteo._ + + Who is alone and purposeless? not he? + Nor him he pledges craven to reveal? + + _Marina._ O, Signor, no! + + _Rizzio._ Lies! and a world of lies! + + [_His words writhing._ + + And now you shall not hold her: she shall come: + Shall go into the bower. She shall take him + Before your very breath unto her breast. + + _Marina._ But, Signor, she is asleep. + + _Rizzio._ Go, lead her. + + _Marina._ She + Knows not what she is doing! + + _Rizzio._ She shall learn! + + _Marina._ O Signor, no, no, no! + + _Rizzio._ I tell you, then, + + [_Starting toward house._ + + That truth is still my star, and that no shrinking + Shall stay me, tho all night contains would quench it. + + [_Is near door, when Porzia herself like a wraith appears--and + at the same time Osio is seen in the entrance to bower. + Before Porzia's sleep-fixed eyes Rizzio falls back: her + somnambulant speech breaks faintly._ + + _Porzia._ The night is as a spell. No more of physic. + Return unto your couch. The Inquisition? + To take him? from his very nuptials take him? + He is no bigamist, Monsignor Querio. + + [_Pauses._ + + Yes, Rizzio, at midnight!... Yes.--Ever + The arms of Osio round me instead! + This choking shroud of fever that defiles! + + [_Moans, trying to throw it off._ + + But, peace; the child will wake. My little one, + My baby!... lift the candle to its face. + + [_Again moaning._ + + O that is Osio, not Rizzio, + I see within its eyes! Yet do not kill him, + No, Rizzio, do not kill him, tho he is + Your brother and has done it: I have borne + Too much and they would prison you again. + Or if they did not, still the stars we love + Must not turn into ... drops of bloody vengeance!-- + But, peace to this! (_moves forward_) for it is time to meet him. + + _Marina_ (_withholdingly_). Signora! + + _Porzia._ Time to meet him in the bower. + + [_Is nearing it._ + + For now he is returned and all the night + Is like a spell to draw my soul unto him. + + [_With Osio before her._ + + Yes, Rizzio, I come; you see, I ... I ... + + [_Is reaching her arms to him when a shudder takes her. Her + hand goes up to her brow and her gaze wanly flutters. Then + suddenly her trance breaks and she shrinks screaming._ + + It is not he! not Rizzio! Not he! + Marina! Bianca! Help! not he! help; help! + + [_Sinks wildly back to the seat._ + + _Marina_ (_who runs to her_). Signora, no! not he! not he! but we + Are here and he is come and you shall see him. + + [_Kneeling._ + + See, you have dreamed!... + + _Aloysius_ (_by her_). And have awakened, Porzia, + Awakened from imaginings and terrors; + For you are ill.... + + _Marina._ And knew not what you did!... + But now look round you and all shall be well. + + [_She looks and, finding Rizzio, rises again bewildered._ + + _Marina_ (_who understands_). It now is he, Signora; do not fear. + + _Porzia._ Rizzio! Rizzio! Rizzio! + + _Rizzio._ Porzia! + + [_He sobs._ + + _Porzia._ O, is it dreams? I pray do not deceive me. + I think that it is he, but O so many + My thoughts have been and full of pain to me + That truth shall never more, alas, be true, + Or trust be ever utter trust again + Till peace has come to me as pure as that + To earth, from the rainbow's woven amulet + Upon the brow of God--peace wed to kindness. + And to deceive me now were less than kind! + + _Rizzio._ My Porzia! (_Falls weeping at her feet._) Deceit at last + is o'er! + And not he, even he, who wrought this wrong + And who would forge that rainbow into fetters, + Till I could wish + The eternal tooth of pain + And of remorse should tear him--not he, now, + + [_Rising; to Osio._ + + Shall turn my heart from love unto revenge. + But "pagan" tho I be, I bid him go! + + [_Points to gate, and Osio tortured, flings it open--and goes. + Then when Matteo has followed, Rizzio turns tenderly to + Porzia. The horror falls from her as he folds her finally + to him--while the moon that had clouded, shines on them + bright and still._ + + + + + THE END + + + + +THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS + +GARDEN CITY, N.Y. + + + + +FAR QUESTS + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"The countrymen of Cale Young Rice apparently regard him as the equal +of the great American poets of the past. _Far Quests_ is good +unquestionably. It shows a wide range of thought, and sympathy, and +real skill in workmanship, while occasionally it rises to heights of +simplicity and truth, that suggest such inspiration as should mean +lasting fame."--_The Daily Telegraph (London)._ + +"Mr. Rice's lyrics are deeply impressive. A large number are complete +and full-blooded works of art."--_Prof. Wm. Lyon Phelps (Yale +University)._ + +"_Far Quests_ contains much beautiful work--the work of a real poet in +imagination and achievement."--_Prof. J. W. Mackail (Oxford +University)._ + +"Mr. Rice is determined to get away from local or national limitations +and be at whatever cost universal.... These poems are always animated +by a force and freshness of feeling rare in work of such high +virtuosity."--_The Scotsman (Edinburgh)._ + +"Mr. Cale Young Rice is acknowledged by his countrymen to be one of +their great poets. There is great charm in the nature songs (of this +volume) and of the East. Mr. Rice writes with great simplicity and +beauty."--_The Sphere (London)._ + +"Mr. Rice's forte is a poetic drama. Yet in the act of saying this the +critic is confronted by such poems as _The Mystic_.... These are the +poems of a thinker, a man of large horizons, an optimist profoundly +impressed with the pathos of man's quest for happiness in all +lands."--_The Chicago Record-Herald._ + +"Mr. Rice's latest volume shows no diminution of poetic power. Fecundity +is a mark of the genuine poet, and a glance through these pages will +demonstrate how rich Mr. Rice is in vitality and variety of thought.... +There is too, the unmistakable quality of style. It is spontaneous, +flexible, and strong with the strength of simplicity--a style of rare +distinction."--_Albert S. Henry (The Book News Monthly, +Philadelphia)._ + + + + +THE IMMORTAL LURE + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +It is great art--with great vitality.--_James Lane Allen._ + +In the midst of the Spring rush there arrives one book for which all +else is pushed aside.... We have been educated to the belief that a man +must be long dead before he can be enrolled with the great ones. Let us +forget this cruel teaching.... This volume contains four poetic dramas +all different in setting, and all so beautiful that we cannot choose one +more perfect than another.... Too extravagant praise cannot be given Mr. +Rice.--_The San Francisco Call._ + +Four brief dramas, different from Paolo & Francesca, but excelling +it--or any other of Mr. Phillips's work, it is safe to say--in a vivid +presentment of a supreme moment in the lives of the characters.... They +form excellent examples of the range of Mr. Rice's genius in this +field.--_The New York Times Review._ + +Mr. Rice is quite the most ambitious, and most distinguished of +contemporary poetic dramatists in America.--_The Boston Transcript (W. +S. Braithwaite)._ + +The vigor and originality of Mr. Rice's work never outweigh that first +qualification, beauty.... No American writer has so enriched the body of +our poetic literature in the past few years.--_The New Orleans +Picayune._ + +Mr. Rice is beyond doubt the most distinguished poetic dramatist America +has yet produced.--_The Detroit Free Press._ + +That in Cale Young Rice a new American poet of great power and +originality has arisen cannot be denied. He has somehow discovered the +secret of the mystery, wonder and spirituality of human existence, +which has been all but lost in our commercial civilization. May he +succeed in awakening our people from sordid dreams of gain.--_Rochester +(N. Y.) Post Express._ + +No writer in England or America holds himself to higher ideals (than Mr. +Rice) and everything he does bears the imprint of exquisite taste and +the finest poetic instinct.--_The Portland Oregonian._ + +In simplicity of art form and sheer mystery of romanticism these poetic +dramas embody the new century artistry that is remaking current +imaginative literature.--_The Philadelphia North American._ + +Cale Young Rice is justly regarded as the leading master of the +difficult form of poetic drama.--_Portland (Me.) Press._ + +Mr. Rice has outlived the prophesy that he would one day rival Stephen +Phillips in the poetic drama. As dexterous in the mechanism of his art, +the young American is the Englishman's superior in that unforced quality +which bespeaks true inspiration, and in a wider variety of manner and +theme.--_San Francisco Chronicle._ + +Mr. Rice's work has often been compared to Stephen Phillips's and there +is great resemblance in their expression of high vision. Mr. Rice's +technique is sure, ... his knowledge of his settings impeccable, and one +feels sincerely the passion, power and sensuous beauty of the whole. +"Arduin" (one of the plays) is perfect tragedy; as rounded as a sphere, +as terrible as death.--_Review of Reviews._ + +The Immortal Lure is a very beautiful work.--_The Springfield (Mass.) +Republican._ + +The action in Mr. Rice's dramas is invariably compact and powerful, his +writing remarkably forcible and clear, with a rare grasp of form. The +plays are brief and classic.--_Baltimore News._ + +These four dramas, each a separate unit perfect in itself and differing +widely in treatment, are yet vitally related by reason of the one +central theme, wrought out with rich imagery and with compelling +dramatic power.--_The Louisville Times (U. S.)_ + +The literary and poetical merit of these dramas is undeniable, and they +are charged with the emotional life and human interest that should, but +do not, always go along with those other high gifts.--_The (London) +Bookman._ + +Mr. Rice never [like Stephen Phillips] mistakes strenuous phrase for +strong thought. He makes his blank verse his servant, and it has the +stage merit of possessing the freedom of prose while retaining the +impassioned movement of poetry.--_The Glasgow (Scotland) Herald._ + +These firm and vivid pieces of work are truly welcome as examples of +poetic force that succeeds without the help of poetic license.--_The +Literary World (London)._ + +We do not possess a living American poet whose utterance is so clear, so +felicitous, so free from the inane and meretricious folly of sugared +lines.... No one has a better understanding of the development of +dramatic action than Mr. Rice.--_The Book News Monthly (Albert S. +Henry)._ + + + + +COUNTRY LIFE IN AMERICA + +THE WORLD'S WORK + +THE GARDEN MAGAZINE + +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO., GARDEN CITY, N. Y. + + + + +MANY GODS + +By + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"These poems are flashingly, glowingly full of the East.... What I am +sure of in Mr. Rice is that here we have an American poet whom we may +claim as ours."--_The North American Review (William Dean Howells)._ + +"Mr. Rice has the gift of leadership ... and he is a force with whom we +must reckon."--_The Boston Transcript._ + +... "We find here a poet who strives to reach the goal which marks the +best that can be done in poetry."--_The Book News Monthly (A. S. +Henry)._ + +"When you hear the pessimists bewailing the good old time when real +poets were abroad in the land ... do not fail to quote them almost +anything by Cale Young Rice, a real poet writing to-day.... He has done +so much splendid work one can scarcely praise him too highly."--_The San +Francisco Call._ + +"In 'Many Gods' the scenes are those of the East, and while it is not +the East of Loti, Arnold or Hearn, it is still a place of brooding, +majesty, mystery and subtle fascination. There is a temptation to quote +such verses for their melody, dignity of form, beauty of imagery and +height of inspiration."--_The Chicago Journal._ + +"'Love's Cynic' (a long poem in the volume) might be by Browning at his +best."--_Pittsburg Gazette-Times._ + +"This is a serious, and from any standpoint, a successful piece of +work ... in it are poems that will become classic."--_Passaic (New +Jersey) News._ + +"Mr. Rice must be hailed as one among living masters of his art, one to +whom we may look for yet greater things."--_Presbyterian Advance._ + +"This book is in many respects a remarkable work. The poems are indeed +poems."--_The Nashville Banner._ + +"Mr. Rice's poetical plays reach a high level of achievement.... But +these poems show a higher vision and surer mastery of expression than +ever before."--_The London Bookman._ + + +_Net, $1.25 (postage 12c.)_ + + + + +NIRVANA DAYS + +Poems by + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"Mr. Rice has the technical cunning that makes up almost the entire +equipment of many poets nowadays, but human nature is more to him +always ... and he has the feeling and imaginative sympathy without +which all poetry is but an empty and vain thing."--_The London Bookman._ + +"Mr. Rice's note is a clarion call, and of his two poems, 'The Strong +Man to His Sires' and 'The Young to the Old,' the former will send a +thrill to the heart of every man who has the instinct of race in his +blood, while the latter should be printed above the desk of every minor +poet and pessimist.... The sonnets of the sequence, 'Quest and +Requital,' have the elements of great poetry in them."--_The Glasgow +(Scotland) Herald._ + +"Mr. Rice's poems are singularly free from affectation, and he seems to +have written because of the sincere need of expressing something that +had to take art form."--_The Sun (New York)._ + +"The ability to write verse that scans is quite common.... But the +inspired thought behind the lines is a different thing; and it is this +thought untrammeled--the clear vision searching into the deeps of human +emotion--which gives the verse of Mr. Rice weight and potency.... In the +range of his metrical skill he easily stands with the best of living +craftsmen ... and we have in him ... a poet whose dramas and lyrics will +endure."--_The Book News Monthly (A. S. Henry)._ + +"These poems are marked by a breadth of outlook, individuality and +beauty of thought. The author reveals deep, sincere feeling on topics +which do not readily lend themselves to artistic expression and which he +makes eminently worth while."--_The Buffalo (N. Y.) Courier._ + +"We get throughout the idea of a vast universe and of the soul merging +itself in the infinite.... The great poem of the volume, however, is +'The Strong Man to His Sires.'"--_The Louisville Post (Margaret S. +Anderson)._ + +"The poems possess much music ... and even in the height of intensified +feeling the clearness of Mr. Rice's ideas is not dimmed by the obscure +haze that too often goes with the divine fire."--_The Boston Globe._ + + +_Paper boards. Net, $1.25 (postage 12c.)_ + + + + +A NIGHT IN AVIGNON + +By + +CALE YOUNG RICE + +_Successfully produced by Donald Robertson_ + + +"It is as vivid as a page from Browning. Mr. Rice has the dramatic +pulse."--_James Huneker._ + +"It embraces in small compass all the essentials of the drama."--_New +York Saturday Times Review (Jessie B. Rittenhouse)._ + +"It presents one of the most striking situations in dramatic literature +and its climax could not be improved."--_The San Francisco Call._ + +"It has undeniable power, and is a very decided poetic +achievement."--_The Boston Transcript._ + +"It leaves an enduring impression of a soul tragedy."--_The Churchman._ + +"Since the publication of his 'Charles di Tocca' and other dramas, Cale +Young Rice has justly been regarded as a leading American master of that +difficult form, and many critics have ranked him above Stephen Phillips, +at least on the dramatic side of his art. And this judgment is further +confirmed by 'A Night in Avignon.' It is almost incredible that in less +than 500 lines Mr. Rice should have been able to create so perfect a +play with so powerful a dramatic effect."--_The Chicago Record-Herald +(Edwin S. Shuman)._ + +"There is poetic richness in this brilliant composition; a beauty of +sentiment and grace in every line. It is impressive, metrically pleasing +and dramatically powerful."--_The Philadelphia Record._ + +"It offers one of the most striking situations in dramatic +literature."--_The Louisville Courier-Journal._ + +"The publication of a poetic drama of the quality of Mr. Rice's is an +important event in the present tendency of American literature. He is a +leader in this most significant movement, and 'A Night in Avignon' is +marked, like his other plays, by dramatic directness, high poetic +fervor, clarity of poetic diction, and felicity of phrasing."--_The +Chicago Journal._ + +"It is a dramatically told episode, and the metre is most effectively +handled, making a welcome change for blank verse, and greatly enhancing +the interest."--_Sydney Lee._ + +"Many critics, on hearing Mr. Bryce's prediction that America will one +day have a poet, would be tempted to remind him of Mr. Rice."--_The +Hartford (Conn.) Courant._ + + +_Net 50c. (postage 5c.)_ + + + + +YOLANDA OF CYPRUS + +A Poetic Drama by + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"It has real life and drama, not merely beautiful words, and so differs +from the great mass of poetic plays."--_Prof. Gilbert Murray._ + +_Minnie Maddern Fisk_ says: "No one can doubt that it is superior +poetically and dramatically to Stephen Phillips's work," and that Mr. +Rice ranks with Mr. Phillips at his best has often been reaffirmed. + +"It is encouraging to the hope of a native drama to know that an +American has written a play which is at the same time of decided poetic +merit and of decided dramatic power."--_The New York Times._ + +"The most remarkable quality of the play is its sustained dramatic +strength. Poetically it is frequently of great beauty. It is also lofty +in conception, lucid and felicitous in style, and the dramatic pulse +throbs in every line."--_The Chicago Record-Herald._ + +"The characters are drawn with force and the play is dignified and +powerful," and adds that if it does not succeed on the stage it will be +"because of its excellence."--_The Springfield Republican._ + +"Mr. Rice is one of the few present-day poets who have the steadiness +and weight for a well-sustained drama."--_The Louisville Post +(Margaret Anderson)._ + +"It has equal command of imagination, dramatic utterance, picturesque +effectiveness and metrical harmony."--_The London (England) Bookman._ + +_T. P.'s Weekly_ says: "It might well stand the difficult test of +production and will be welcomed by all who care for serious verse." + +_The Glasgow (Scotland) Herald_ says: "Yolanda of Cyprus is finely +constructed; the irregular blank verse admirably adapted for the +exigencies of intense emotion; the characters firmly drawn; and the +climax serves the purpose of good stagecraft and poetic justice." + +"It is well constructed and instinct with dramatic power."--_Sydney +Lee._ + +"It is as readable as a novel."--_The Pittsburg Post._ + +"Here and there an almost Shakespearean note is struck. In makeup, +arrangement, and poetic intensity it ranks with Stephen Phillips's +work."--_The Book News Monthly._ + + +_Net, $1.25 (postage 10c.)_ + + + + +COUNTRY LIFE IN AMERICA + +THE WORLD'S WORK + +THE GARDEN MAGAZINE + +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO., GARDEN CITY, N. Y. + + + + +DAVID + +A Poetic Drama by + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"I was greatly impressed with it and derived a sense of personal +encouragement from the evidence of so fine and lofty a product for the +stage."--_Richard Mansfield._ + +"It is a powerful piece of dramatic portraiture in which Cale Young Rice +has again demonstrated his insight and power. What he did before in +'Charles di Tocca' he has repeated and improved upon.... Not a few +instances of his strength might be cited as of almost Shakespearean +force. Indeed the strictly literary merit of the tragedy is altogether +extraordinary. It is a contribution to the drama full of charm and +power."--_The Chicago Tribune._ + +"From the standpoint of poetry, dignity of conception, spiritual +elevation and finish and beauty of line, Mr. Rice's 'David' is, perhaps, +superior to his 'Yolanda of Cyprus,' but the two can scarcely be +compared."--_The New York Times (Jessie B. Rittenhouse)._ + +"Never before has the theme received treatment in a manner so worthy of +it."--_The St. Louis Globe-Democrat._ + +"It needs but a word, for it has been passed upon and approved by +critics all over the country."--_Book News Monthly._ And again: "But few +recent writers seem to have found the secret of dramatic blank verse; +and of that small number, Mr. Rice is, if not first, at least without +superior." + +"With instinctive dramatic and poetic power, Mr. Rice combines a +knowledge of the exigencies of the stage."--_Harper's Weekly._ + +"It is safe to say that were Mr. Rice an Englishman or a Frenchman, his +reputation as his country's most distinguished poetic dramatist would +have been assured by a more universal sign of recognition."--_The +Baltimore News (writing of all Mr. Rice's plays)._ + + +_Net, $1.25 (postage 12c.)_ + + + + +CHARLES DI TOCCA + +By + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"I take off my hat to Mr. Rice. His play is full of poetry, and the +pitch and dignity of the whole are remarkable."--_James Lane Allen._ + +"It is a dramatic poem one reads with a heightened sense of its fine +quality throughout. It is sincere, strong, finished and noble, and +sustains its distinction of manner to the end.... The character of +Helena is not unworthy of any of the great masters of dramatic +utterance."--_The Chicago Tribune._ + +"The drama is one of the best of the kind ever written by an American +author. Its whole tone is masterful, and it must be classed as one of +the really literary works of the season." (1903).--_The Milwaukee +Sentinel._ + +"It shows a remarkable sense of dramatic construction as well as poetic +power and strong characterization."--_James MacArthur, in Harper's +Weekly._ + +"This play has many elements of perfection. Its plot is developed with +ease and with a large dramatic force; its characters are drawn with +sympathy and decision; and its thoughts rise to a very real beauty. By +reason of it the writer has gained an assured place among playwrights +who seek to give literary as well as dramatic worth to their +plays."--_The Richmond (Va.) News-Leader._ + +"The action of the play is admirably compact and coherent, and it +contains tragic situations which will afford pleasure not only to the +student, but to the technical reader."--_The Nation._ + +"It is the most powerful, vital, and truly tragical drama written by an +American for some years. There is genuine pathos, mighty yet never +repellent passion, great sincerity and penetration, and great elevation +and beauty of language."--_The Chicago Post._ + +"Mr. Rice ranks among America's choicest poets on account of his power +to turn music into words, his virility, and of the fact that he has +something of his own to say."--_The Boston Globe._ + +"The whole play breathes forth the indefinable spirit of the Italian +renaissance. In poetic style and dramatic treatment it is a work of +art."--_The Baltimore Sun._ + + +_Paper boards. Net, $1.25 (postage, 9c.)_ + + + + +SONG-SURF + +(Being the Lyrics of Plays and Lyrics) by + +CALE YOUNG RICE + + +"Mr. Rice's work betrays wide sympathies with nature and life, and a +welcome originality of sentiment and metrical harmony."--_Sydney Lee._ + +"In his lyrics Mr. Rice's imagination works most successfully. He is an +optimist--and in these days an optimist is irresistible--and he can +touch delicately things too holy for a rough or violent pathos."--_The +London Star (James Douglas)._ + +"Mr. Rice's highest gift is essentially lyrical. His lyrics have a charm +and grace of melody distinctively their own."--_The London Bookman._ + +"Mr. Rice is keenly responsive to the loveliness of the outside world, +and he reveals this beauty in words that sing themselves."--_The Boston +Transcript._ + +"Mr. Rice's work is everywhere marked by true imaginative power and +elevation of feeling."--_The Scotsman._ + +"Mr. Rice's work would seem to rank with the best of our American poets +of to-day."--_The Atlanta Constitution._ + +"Mr. Rice's poems are touched with the magic of the muse. They have +inspiration, grace and true lyric quality."--_The Book News Monthly._ + +"Mr. Rice's poetry as a whole is both strongly and delicately spiritual. +Many of these lyrics have the true romantic mystery and charm.... To +write thus is no indifferent matter. It indicates not only long work but +long brooding on the beauty and mystery of life."--_The Louisville +Post._ + +"Mr. Rice is indisputably one of the greatest poets who have +lived in America.... And some of these (earlier) poems are truly +beautiful."--_The Times-Union (Albany, N. 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