Standard Selections Part 58

V

DRAMATIC NOT IN THE DRAMA

THE CONFESSIONAL

ANONYMOUS

'Twas twilight, and the early lighted lamps Were flickering down into the Arno's tide While yet the daylight lingered in the skies, Silvering and paling, when I saw him first.

I was returning from my work, and paused Upon the bridge of Santa Trinita To rest, and think how fair our Florence is.

And I remember, o'er the hazy hills, Far, far away, how exquisitely fair The twilight seemed that night. My heart was soft With tender longings, misted with a dim, Sad pleasure as a mirror with the breath.

Ah, never will those feelings come again!

I was in a mood to take a stamp From any pa.s.sing chance, even like those clouds That caught the tenderest thrill of dying day, When, by some inward sense, I know not what, I felt that I was gazed at, drawn away By eyes that had a strange magnetic will.

And so I turned from those far hills to see-- A stranger? No; even then he did not seem A stranger, but as one I once had known, Not here in Florence, not in any place, But somewhere in my spirit known and seen.

I felt his eyes were fixed upon me, And a sweet, serious smile was on his lips: Nor could I help but look and smile again.

I know not what it was went to and fro Between us in that swift smile and glance.

We neither spoke; But something went that thrilled me through and through.

And that quick clash of souls Had struck a spark that set my soul on fire.

And I was happy, oh, so happy then!

It seemed as if this earth could never add One little drop more to the joy I owned, For all that pa.s.sionate torrent pent within My heart had found its utterance and response.

He was Venetian, and that radiant hair We black-haired girls so covet haloed round His sunny northern face and soft blue eyes.

I know not why he loved me--me, so black, With this black skin that every Roman has, With this black hair, black eyes, that I so hate.

Why loved he not Beata? she is fair, But yet he often swore to me Beata's body Was not worth one half my finger, And then kissed me full upon the mouth as if to seal his oath; Ah! glorious seal--I feel those lips there now!

And on my forehead, too, one kiss still glows Like a great star.

Ah! well! those days are gone. No! no!

They are not gone; I love him madly now.

I love him madly as I loved him then.

Ah, G.o.d! how blissfully those days went by!

You could not fill a golden cup more full Of rubied wine than was my heart with joy.

Long mornings in his studio, there I sat And heard his voice; or, when he did not speak, I felt his presence like a rich perfume, Fill all my thoughts.

I was his model. Hours and hours I posed For him to paint his Cleopatra, fierce, With her squared brows, and full Egyptian lips; A great gold serpent on her rounded arm, And a broad band of gold around her head.

At last the autumn came, the stricken, bleeding autumn.

Something weighed upon his mind I could not understand.

I knew all was not right, yet dared not ask.

At last few words made all things plain; "Love, I must go to Venice." "Must?" "Yes, must."

"Then I go, too." "No, no; ah, Nina, no.

Four weeks pa.s.s swiftly; one short month, and then I shall return to Florence, and to you."

Vain were my words. He went, alas! he went With all the sunshine, and I wore alone The weary weeks out of that hateful month.

Another month I waited, nervous, fierce With love's impatience. When that month was gone My heart was all afire; I could not stay.

Consumed with jealous fears that wore me down Into a fever, necklace, earrings--all I sold, and on to Venice rushed. How long That dreary, never-ending journey seemed!

I cursed the hills up which we slowly dragged, The long, flat plains of Lombardy I cursed, That kept me back from Venice.

But at last in a black gondola I swam along The sea-built city, and my heart was big With the glad thought that I was near to him.

Yes, gladness came upon me that soft night, And jealousy was hushed, and hope led on My dancing heart. In vain I strove to curb My glad impatience--I must see him then, At once, that very night; I could not wait The tardy morning--'twas a year away.

I only gave the gondolier his name, And said, "You know him?" "Yes."

"Then row me quick to where he is."

He bowed and on he went, And as we swept along, I leaned me out And dragged my burning fingers in the wave, My hurried heart forecasting to itself our meeting, What he'd say and think, How I should hang upon his neck and say: "I could not longer live without you, dear."

At last we paused. The gondolier said, "This is the palace." I was struck aghast.

It flared with lights, that from the windows gleamed And trickled down into the black ca.n.a.l.

"Stop! stop!" I cried; "'tis some mistake.

Why are these lights? This palace is not his.

He owns no palace." "Pardon," answered he, "I fancied the signora wished to see The marriage festa--and all Venice knows The bride receives to-night." "What bride, whose bride?"

I asked, impatient. "Count Alberti's bride, Whose else?" he answered, with a shrug. My heart, From its glad, singing height, dropped like a lark Shot dead, at these few words. The whole world reeled, And for a moment I was crushed and stunned.

Then came the wild revulsion of despair; Then, calm more dreadful than the fiercest pain.

"Row me to the steps," I said. I leaped On their wet edge, and stared in at the door Where all was hurry, rush, and flare of light.

My eyes ran, lightning, zigzag, through the crowd In search of him--he was not there. Ah, G.o.d!

I breathed. He was not there! I inly cursed My unbelief, and turned me round to go.

There was a sudden murmur near the door, And I beheld him--walking at her side.

Oh! cursed be the hour I saw that sight, And cursed be the place! I saw those eyes That used to look such pa.s.sion into mine Turned with the selfsame look to other eyes, Yes, light blue eyes, that upward gazed at him.

I could not bear their bliss.

I scarcely knew what happened then; I knew I felt for the stiletto in my vest With purpose that was half mechanical, As if a demon used my hand for his.

I felt the red blood singing through my brain, I struck--before me, at my feet, she fell.

Who was the queen then? Ah! your rank and wealth, Your pearls and splendors--what did they avail Against the sharp stiletto's little point?

You should have thought of that before you dared-- You had all the world beside--to steal The only treasure that the Roman girl e'er had.

You will not smile again as then you smiled.

Thank G.o.d, you'll never smile again for him!

I was avenged, avenged, until I saw The dreadful look he gave me as he turned From her dead face and looked in mine. Ah, G.o.d!

It haunts me, scares me, will not let me sleep.

When will he come and tell me he forgives And loves me still? Oh, bid him come, Come quickly, come and let me die in peace.

I could not help it; I was mad; But I repent, I suffer; he at least Should pity and forgive. Oh, make him come And say he loves me, and then let me die.

I shall be ready then to die; but now I cannot think of G.o.d; my heart is h.e.l.l, Until I know he loves me still.

JEAN VALJEAN AND THE GOOD BISHOP[78]

VICTOR HUGO

Early in the month of October, 1815, about an hour before sunset, a man who was traveling on foot, entered the little town of Digne, France.

It would be difficult to encounter a wayfarer of more wretched appearance. He was a man of medium stature, thick-set and robust. He might have been forty-six or forty-eight years old. A cap with a drooping leather visor partly concealed his face, which, burned and tanned by the sun and wind, was dripping with perspiration. He wore a cravat which was twisted into a long string; trousers of blue drilling worn and threadbare, and an old gray tattered blouse, patched on one of the elbows with a bit of green cotton cloth, sewed on with a twine string. On his back, a soldier's knapsack, well buckled and perfectly new; in his hand, an enormous knotty stick. Iron-shod shoes enveloped his stockingless feet.

No one knew him. He was evidently a chance pa.s.ser-by, but nevertheless he directed his footsteps toward the village inn (the best in the country-side), and entered the kitchen. The host, on hearing the door open, addressed him without lifting his eyes from the stove.