Daughter of Jorio, The - Act 2, Scene 3
SCENE 3
Aligi:
I follow, for I did not tell thee all. —
Mila:
Aligi, true thou didst not tell the whole!
Go to the road and seek the crucifer
And pray that he will take thy message home. The saint goes away across the pastures. Now and then is heard the singing of the pilgrims.
Aligi, Aligi, all we did not tell!
And in my mouth 't were better I should have
A good handful of dust, yes, or a stone
To shut it fast. But listen just to this,
Aligi, I have never done thee harm,
And harm I will not do thee. Now my feet
Are healed again, and well I know the road.
The parting hour is come for Jorio's daughter.
The parting hour is come. So let it be.
Aligi:
I know not, thou knowest not the hour that comes.
Fill up our lamp with oil. There still is oil
In the skin. And wait while I go to the pilgrims,
For now I know right well what I will say. He turns to go. The woman, overcome by dismay, calls him back .
Mila:
My brother, Aligi, give thy hand to me.
Aligi:
Mila, the road is there, not far away.
Mila:
Give me thy hand that I may kiss it, dear.
It is the one spring granted to my thirst.
Aligi, drawing near:
Mila, this is the hand I would have burned.
This is the wicked hand that did thee wrong.
Mila:
I have forgotten. I am but that creature
Whom thou didst find seated upon the stone —
And who knows by what pathways she had come!
Aligi:
Upon thy face the tear is not yet dried,
In thy lashes, trembling, still a tear doth linger
While thou dost speak, and yet it does not fall.
Mila:
Aligi, listen! there has fallen a great silence.
They are not singing now. With the grass and snow
We are alone, brother, we are alone.
Aligi:
Mila, thou art now as on that first evening
There, sitting on the stone, when thou wouldest smile
With thine eyes and all the time thy feet were bleeding.
Mila:
And thou, art thou not he who knelt that day,
Who laid the flowers of San Giovan Battista
Upon the ground? And one he gathers up
And carries it hid in his shepherd's scrip.
Aligi:
Mila, there is a cadence in thy voice
That comforts me, and yet that makes me sad,
As in October when one leads one's flocks,
And walks and walks along beside the sea.
Mila:
To walk with thee on the mountains and the shore,
I would to God that this might be my fate.
Aligi:
O my beloved! gird thee for the journey.
Long is the way, but love, but love is strong.
Mila:
Would I might walk with thee on burning fire,
Aligi, and the journey never end!
Aligi:
Upon the mountains thou shalt gather gentians,
And little starfish down upon the sands.
Mila:
Aligi, I would crawl and plant my knees
In thy footsteps, if I might follow thee.
Aligi:
Think of the hours of rest when night shall fall!
For pillow thou shalt have the mint and thyme.
Mila:
I do not think, no. And yet let me stay
This one night more and live here where thou breathest,
And listen to thy sleep yet one night more,
And let me watch thee even as thy dogs watch.
Aligi:
Thou knowest, thou knowest, Mila, the thing that comes!
With thee I share water, and bread, and salt,
And thus with thee I will share bed and board
Even to death. Mila, give me thy hands!
Mila:
Ah, how one trembles, trembles, thou art cold.
Aligi, thou art white — Where is it gone —
The blood that leaves thy face to the last drop?
Aligi:
Oh, Mila, Mila, I hear sound like thunder —
And all the mountain falls and crashes down.
Where art thou, Mila? Everything grows dark! He stretches out his hand to her as one who staggers. They kiss, then they fall upon their knees facing each other .
Mila:
Have pity upon us, O Holy Virgin!
Aligi:
Have pity upon us, O Jesus Christ! There is a great silence . A harsh voice is heard outside .
Voice:
Shepherd, they seek you at the fold,
A black sheep there has fallen lame. Aligi rises, wavering, and goes in the direction of the voice .
The keeper seeks for thee, and bids thee run,
And says there is a woman with a basket,
They don't know who she is, asking for thee. Aligi turns his head to look back at the woman who is still kneeling; and his look embraces everything in the place .
Aligi, in a low voice:
Into the lamp there, Mila, pour more oil,
Lest it go out. For see, it scarcely burns.
Take the oil from the skin, there still is more,
And wait for me, I will be back by night.
And do not be afraid. God pardon us;
Because we tremble, Mary pardons us.
Fill up the lamp, and pray to her for grace. He goes off across the pasture .
Mila:
O Virgin, holy Virgin, grant this grace,
That I may stay with face upon the ground,
Grown cold here, that I may be found here, dead,
By those who come, at last, to bury me.
There was no sin, beneath thy holy eyes,
It was not sin: 't was thou didst grant it us.
We sinned not with our lips (thou art thyself
Our witness). With our lips we never sinned.
I dare to die beneath thy holy eyes,
Mary. I have no power to go away,
But live with him, — that, Mila will not do.
I was not wicked, Mother of gentleness;
I was a trampled pool, too much, too much,
Have I been shamed under the eyes of Heaven.
And who shall take from out my memory,
Mother, that shame of mine, save it be thou?
Mother, I was reborn when love was born,
And thou didst will it, faithful Virgin, thou.
And all this other blood that fills my veins,
It comes from far away, from far away,
Comes from the depths of earth, from where she sleeps
Who suckled me; (O let her see me now!)
From far it comes, comes from my innocence
Of far-off childhood; Mary, thou canst see.
Not with our lips (thou art our witness, Mother),
We sinned not with our lips, — not with our lips.
And if I tremble, 't is because I bring
The trembling in my bones from out the past.
Here with my fingers now I close my eyes. With the first and middle fingers of both hands she presses down her eyelids; and bends her face down to the ground .
I feel death near me, feel death very near.
The trembling grows. My heart will not be still. She rises impetuously .
Oh, wretched me! what I was told to do
I have not done. Three times he said to me
" Fill up the lamp, " and, see, 't is going out. She runs to the oil-skin that hangs from a beam, but she watches the little trembling flame and strives to sustain it by her murmured prayer . Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus tecum — She seizes the skin, pressing it in her hands, seeks for the flask into which to pour the oil, but from the shrunken skin she can squeeze out only a few drops .
'Tis empty, empty! Three drops, blessed Virgin!
They shall be holy for my extreme unction,
Two for my hands, the other for my mouth,
And all the three upon my soul!
But, if I live still when he comes again,
What shall I say to him? What shall I say?
Before he sees me, he will surely see
The lamp gone out. Oh, Mother, if even love
Might not avail to keep the lamp alight,
What help to him shall be this love of mine? She presses the skin yet again, searches about in a hamper, turning the jugs upside down, all the time murmuring a prayer .
O make it burn, Madre intemerata!
Still for a little, still, while we might say
An Ave Maria! while a prayer might last.
Salve Regina! Madre di Misericordia! In her breathless search she approaches the threshold, she hears a step and perceives a shadow. She cries out:
O woman, O good woman, Christian soul,
Stay, stay, and may God bless thee! Woman, stay!
For it may be that God has sent thee here.
What hast thou in thy basket? Hast thou oil?
Give me a little oil for charity.
Then enter here and thou may'st have thy choice
Of spoons and mortars, spindles, distaffs, all!
I must have oil to fill Our Lady's lamp,
Lest it go out. For, if the lamp go out,
I shall not find the road to Paradise.
Good Christian, dost thou hear me, wilt thou give
This gift to me for charity, for love? The woman appears upon the threshold, her face covered with a black mantle; she takes the wooden measure from her head and without a word sets it on the ground. She removes the cloth, seeks within, takes a flask full of oil and holds it out to Mila di Codra .
Oh, blessed, blessed one! God will repay
This deed of thine in heaven and on the earth!
Thou hast it, hast it! Thou art clothed in black,
Ah, but Our Lady surely will grant to thee
To see again the dear face of thy dead,
Because of this that thou hast done for me. She takes the flask and turns anxiously to run to the dying lamp .
Oh, I am lost! I am lost! It is gone out!
The flask slips from her hands and is shattered on the earth. She stands motionless for some minutes, spell-bound by the horror of the omen. The veiled woman bends down with a single silent motion to the spilled oil, touches it with the fingers of her right hand and crosses herself .
Aligi:
I follow, for I did not tell thee all. —
Mila:
Aligi, true thou didst not tell the whole!
Go to the road and seek the crucifer
And pray that he will take thy message home. The saint goes away across the pastures. Now and then is heard the singing of the pilgrims.
Aligi, Aligi, all we did not tell!
And in my mouth 't were better I should have
A good handful of dust, yes, or a stone
To shut it fast. But listen just to this,
Aligi, I have never done thee harm,
And harm I will not do thee. Now my feet
Are healed again, and well I know the road.
The parting hour is come for Jorio's daughter.
The parting hour is come. So let it be.
Aligi:
I know not, thou knowest not the hour that comes.
Fill up our lamp with oil. There still is oil
In the skin. And wait while I go to the pilgrims,
For now I know right well what I will say. He turns to go. The woman, overcome by dismay, calls him back .
Mila:
My brother, Aligi, give thy hand to me.
Aligi:
Mila, the road is there, not far away.
Mila:
Give me thy hand that I may kiss it, dear.
It is the one spring granted to my thirst.
Aligi, drawing near:
Mila, this is the hand I would have burned.
This is the wicked hand that did thee wrong.
Mila:
I have forgotten. I am but that creature
Whom thou didst find seated upon the stone —
And who knows by what pathways she had come!
Aligi:
Upon thy face the tear is not yet dried,
In thy lashes, trembling, still a tear doth linger
While thou dost speak, and yet it does not fall.
Mila:
Aligi, listen! there has fallen a great silence.
They are not singing now. With the grass and snow
We are alone, brother, we are alone.
Aligi:
Mila, thou art now as on that first evening
There, sitting on the stone, when thou wouldest smile
With thine eyes and all the time thy feet were bleeding.
Mila:
And thou, art thou not he who knelt that day,
Who laid the flowers of San Giovan Battista
Upon the ground? And one he gathers up
And carries it hid in his shepherd's scrip.
Aligi:
Mila, there is a cadence in thy voice
That comforts me, and yet that makes me sad,
As in October when one leads one's flocks,
And walks and walks along beside the sea.
Mila:
To walk with thee on the mountains and the shore,
I would to God that this might be my fate.
Aligi:
O my beloved! gird thee for the journey.
Long is the way, but love, but love is strong.
Mila:
Would I might walk with thee on burning fire,
Aligi, and the journey never end!
Aligi:
Upon the mountains thou shalt gather gentians,
And little starfish down upon the sands.
Mila:
Aligi, I would crawl and plant my knees
In thy footsteps, if I might follow thee.
Aligi:
Think of the hours of rest when night shall fall!
For pillow thou shalt have the mint and thyme.
Mila:
I do not think, no. And yet let me stay
This one night more and live here where thou breathest,
And listen to thy sleep yet one night more,
And let me watch thee even as thy dogs watch.
Aligi:
Thou knowest, thou knowest, Mila, the thing that comes!
With thee I share water, and bread, and salt,
And thus with thee I will share bed and board
Even to death. Mila, give me thy hands!
Mila:
Ah, how one trembles, trembles, thou art cold.
Aligi, thou art white — Where is it gone —
The blood that leaves thy face to the last drop?
Aligi:
Oh, Mila, Mila, I hear sound like thunder —
And all the mountain falls and crashes down.
Where art thou, Mila? Everything grows dark! He stretches out his hand to her as one who staggers. They kiss, then they fall upon their knees facing each other .
Mila:
Have pity upon us, O Holy Virgin!
Aligi:
Have pity upon us, O Jesus Christ! There is a great silence . A harsh voice is heard outside .
Voice:
Shepherd, they seek you at the fold,
A black sheep there has fallen lame. Aligi rises, wavering, and goes in the direction of the voice .
The keeper seeks for thee, and bids thee run,
And says there is a woman with a basket,
They don't know who she is, asking for thee. Aligi turns his head to look back at the woman who is still kneeling; and his look embraces everything in the place .
Aligi, in a low voice:
Into the lamp there, Mila, pour more oil,
Lest it go out. For see, it scarcely burns.
Take the oil from the skin, there still is more,
And wait for me, I will be back by night.
And do not be afraid. God pardon us;
Because we tremble, Mary pardons us.
Fill up the lamp, and pray to her for grace. He goes off across the pasture .
Mila:
O Virgin, holy Virgin, grant this grace,
That I may stay with face upon the ground,
Grown cold here, that I may be found here, dead,
By those who come, at last, to bury me.
There was no sin, beneath thy holy eyes,
It was not sin: 't was thou didst grant it us.
We sinned not with our lips (thou art thyself
Our witness). With our lips we never sinned.
I dare to die beneath thy holy eyes,
Mary. I have no power to go away,
But live with him, — that, Mila will not do.
I was not wicked, Mother of gentleness;
I was a trampled pool, too much, too much,
Have I been shamed under the eyes of Heaven.
And who shall take from out my memory,
Mother, that shame of mine, save it be thou?
Mother, I was reborn when love was born,
And thou didst will it, faithful Virgin, thou.
And all this other blood that fills my veins,
It comes from far away, from far away,
Comes from the depths of earth, from where she sleeps
Who suckled me; (O let her see me now!)
From far it comes, comes from my innocence
Of far-off childhood; Mary, thou canst see.
Not with our lips (thou art our witness, Mother),
We sinned not with our lips, — not with our lips.
And if I tremble, 't is because I bring
The trembling in my bones from out the past.
Here with my fingers now I close my eyes. With the first and middle fingers of both hands she presses down her eyelids; and bends her face down to the ground .
I feel death near me, feel death very near.
The trembling grows. My heart will not be still. She rises impetuously .
Oh, wretched me! what I was told to do
I have not done. Three times he said to me
" Fill up the lamp, " and, see, 't is going out. She runs to the oil-skin that hangs from a beam, but she watches the little trembling flame and strives to sustain it by her murmured prayer . Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus tecum — She seizes the skin, pressing it in her hands, seeks for the flask into which to pour the oil, but from the shrunken skin she can squeeze out only a few drops .
'Tis empty, empty! Three drops, blessed Virgin!
They shall be holy for my extreme unction,
Two for my hands, the other for my mouth,
And all the three upon my soul!
But, if I live still when he comes again,
What shall I say to him? What shall I say?
Before he sees me, he will surely see
The lamp gone out. Oh, Mother, if even love
Might not avail to keep the lamp alight,
What help to him shall be this love of mine? She presses the skin yet again, searches about in a hamper, turning the jugs upside down, all the time murmuring a prayer .
O make it burn, Madre intemerata!
Still for a little, still, while we might say
An Ave Maria! while a prayer might last.
Salve Regina! Madre di Misericordia! In her breathless search she approaches the threshold, she hears a step and perceives a shadow. She cries out:
O woman, O good woman, Christian soul,
Stay, stay, and may God bless thee! Woman, stay!
For it may be that God has sent thee here.
What hast thou in thy basket? Hast thou oil?
Give me a little oil for charity.
Then enter here and thou may'st have thy choice
Of spoons and mortars, spindles, distaffs, all!
I must have oil to fill Our Lady's lamp,
Lest it go out. For, if the lamp go out,
I shall not find the road to Paradise.
Good Christian, dost thou hear me, wilt thou give
This gift to me for charity, for love? The woman appears upon the threshold, her face covered with a black mantle; she takes the wooden measure from her head and without a word sets it on the ground. She removes the cloth, seeks within, takes a flask full of oil and holds it out to Mila di Codra .
Oh, blessed, blessed one! God will repay
This deed of thine in heaven and on the earth!
Thou hast it, hast it! Thou art clothed in black,
Ah, but Our Lady surely will grant to thee
To see again the dear face of thy dead,
Because of this that thou hast done for me. She takes the flask and turns anxiously to run to the dying lamp .
Oh, I am lost! I am lost! It is gone out!
The flask slips from her hands and is shattered on the earth. She stands motionless for some minutes, spell-bound by the horror of the omen. The veiled woman bends down with a single silent motion to the spilled oil, touches it with the fingers of her right hand and crosses herself .
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.