The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 29

MARIA (turns suddenly).

Is it not marvellous, Signor Lorenzo? I would draw the curtain, But, gazing, I forgot.

You are the first, After the master and myself, to look Upon this wonder.

LORENZO (with enthusiasm, looking for he first time at the picture).

Ah, what an answer this For envious minds that would restrict his power To writhing limbs and shrivelled flesh! Repose, Beauty, and large simplicity are here.

Yes, that is art! Before such work I stand And feel myself a dwarf.

MARIA.

There, you are wrong.

My father even, who knows his proper worth, Before his best achievements I have seen In like dejection; 't is the curse of genius.

Oft have I heard the master grace your name With flattering addition.

LORENZO.

'T is your goodness, And not the echo of his praise, that speaks.

My work was worthless--'t was your generous voice Alone secured the master's second glance.

MARIA.

Nay, signor, frankly, he esteems your talent.

Because you are of well-a.s.sured means And gentle birth, he will be rude to you.

Not without base is the deep grudge he owes To riches and prosperity.

LORENZO.

Signora, Why do I bear such harsh, injurious terms As he affronts me with? Why must I seem In mine own eyes a craven? Spiritless, Dishonorably patient? 'T is not his fame, His power, his gift, his venerable years That bind me here his willing slave. Maria, 'T is thou, 't is thou alone! 'T is that I love thee, And exile hence is death!

[A pause. He kneels at her feet. She looks at him kindly but makes no reply.]

At thy dear feet I lay my life with its most loyal service, The subject of thy pleasure.

MARIA (tenderly).

You are too humble.

LORENZO.

Too humble! Do you seek mine utter ruin, With words whose very tone is a caress?

I say all. I love you!--you have known it.

Why should I tell you? Yet, to-day you seem Other than you have been. A milder light Beams from your eyes--a gentler grace is throned Upon your brow--your words fall soft as dew To melt my fixed resolve.

MARIA.

You find me, signor, In an unguarded mood. I would be true To you; and to myself; yet, know no answer.

Anon, I will be calm; pray you withdraw.

LORENZO.

Till when? Remember what mad hopes and fears Meantime will riot in my brain.

MARIA.

To-morrow-- Farewell, farewell.

LORENZO (kisses her hand).

Farewell.

[Exit.]

MARIA.

A faithful heart, A name untainted, a fair home--yea, these Are what I need. Oh, lily soul in heaven, Who wast on earth my mother, guide thy child!

While MARIA sits rapt in thought, enter from behind her, ANNICCA, who bends over her and kisses her brow.

ANNICCA.

What, sister! lost in dreams by daylight? Fie!

Who is the monarch of thy thoughts?

MARIA (starting).

Annicca!

My thoughts are bounden to no master yet; They fly from earth to heaven in a breath.

Now are they all of earth. Hast heard the tidings?

ANNICCA.

Yea--of the Prince's ball? We go together.

Braid in thy hair our mother's pearls, and wear The amulet ingemmed with eastern stones; 'T will bring good fortune.

MARIA.

Tell me, ere we go, What manner of man is John of Austria?

ANNICCA.

Scarce man at all--a madcap, charming boy; Well-favored--you have seen him--exquisite In courtly compliment, of simple manners; You may not hear a merrier laugh than his From any boatman on the bay; well-versed In all such arts as most become his station; Light in the dance as winged-foot Mercury, Eloquent on the zither, and a master Of rapier and--

MARIA.

A puppet could be made To answer in all points your praise of him.

Hath he no substance as of a man?

ANNICCA.

Why, sister, What may that be to us?