The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 46

DON TOMMASO.

Mine honored sir--

RIBERA (looks up without rising).

Surely you mock me, signor.

Honored! Yes, honored with a rifled home, A desecrated heart, a strumpet child.

For honors such as these, I have not stinted Sweat, blood, or spirit through long years of toil.

I have pa.s.sed through peril scathless; I was spared When Naples was plague-stricken; I have 'scaped Mine enemies' stiletto--fire and flood; I have survived my love, my youth, my self, My thrice-blest Leonora, whom I pitied, Fool that I was! in her void, silent tomb.

The G.o.d of mercy hath reserved me truly For a wise purpose.

ANNICCA.

Father, rise; take courage; We know not yet the end.

RIBERA.

Why should I rise To front the level eyes of men's contempt?

Oh, I am shamed! Cover my head, Annicca; Darken mine eyes, and veil my face. Oh, G.o.d, Would that I were a nameless, obscure man, So could I bury with me my disgrace, That now must be immortal. Where thou standest, Annicca, there she stood last night. She kissed me; Round mine old neck she wreathed her soft, young arms.

My wrinkled cheeks were wet with her warm tears.

She shuddered, and I thought it was the thunder Struck terror through her soul. White-bearded fool!

FIAMETTA.

I found this scrip upon the chamber-floor, Mayhap it brings some comfort.

RIBERA (starts up and s.n.a.t.c.hes the paper she offers him, reads it rapidly, then to ANNICCA wildly).

Look, look there-- 'T is writ in blood: "My duty to my lord Forbids my telling you our present port."

I would track her down with sleuth-hounds, did I not Abhor to see her face. Ah, press thy hands Against my head--my brain is like to burst-- My throat is choked. Help! help!

[He swoons.]

SCENE IV.

A street. Enter LORENZO and a GENTLEMAN, meeting. They salute, and LORENZO is about to pa.s.s on.

LORENZO.

Good-morning, sir.

GENTLEMAN.

Hail and farewell so soon, Friend dreamer? I will lay a goodly sum The news that flies like fire from tongue to tongue Hath not yet warmed thine ear.

LORENZO.

What's that? I lay A sum as fair thy news is some dry tale Of courtly gossip, touching me as nigh As the dissensions of the antipodes.

GENTLEMAN.

Done for a hundred florins! In the night, 'Midst the wild storm whose roar must have invaded Even thy leaden sleep, Prince John left Naples.

We should have had a pageant here to-day, A royal exit, floral arches thrown From house to house in all the streets he pa.s.sed, Music and guard of honor, homage fitting The son of Philip--but the bird has flown.

LORENZO.

So! I regret our busy citizens, Who sun themselves day-long upon the quays, Should be deprived of such a festival.

Your wager's lost--how am I moved by this?

GENTLEMAN.

Hark to the end. 'T would move all men whose veins Flow not clear water. He hath carried off The Rose of Naples.

LORENZO.

What wouldst thou say? Speak out!

In G.o.d's name, who hath followed him?

GENTLEMAN.

Ah, thou'rt roused.

Thy master hath been robbed--the Spagnoletto-- Maria of the Golden Locks--his daughter.

LORENZO.

How is this known? 'T is a foul slander forged By desperate malice. What! in the night, you say?-- She whose bright name was clean as gold, whose heart Shone a fixed star of loyal love and duty Beside her father's glory! This coa.r.s.e lie Denies itself. I will go seek the master, And if this very noon she walk not forth, Led by the Spagnoletto, through the streets, To blind the dazed eyes of her slanderers,-- I am your debtor for a hundred florins.

GENTLEMAN.

Your faith in womanhood becomes you, sir.

(Aside.) A beggar's child the mistress of a Prince; Humph! there be some might think the weight of scandal Lay on the other side. (To Lorenzo.) You need not forth To seek her father. See, he comes, alone.

I will not meddle in the broil. Farewell!

[Exit Gentleman.]

Enter RIBERA, without hat or mantle, slowly, with folded arms and bent head.

LORENZO.

Oh heart, break not for pity! Shall he thus Unto all Naples blazon his disgrace?

This must not be (advancing). Father!

RIBERA (starts and looks up sharply).

Who calls me father?

LORENZO.

Why, master, I--you know me not? Lorenzo.