The Vigil of Venus and Other Poems | Page 5

ear. Cesario,
My sister is a saint--and yet she
married:
Therefore should understand ... Would saints, like cobblers,
Stick but to business in this naughty world!
Ah, well! the Duke
comes home.

Cesario. And what of that?
Lucio. Release!
Cesario. Release?
_Lucio (mocking a chant within the Chapel)._ From priests and
petticoats Deliver us, Good Lord!
_Gamba (strikes a chord on viol). AMEN!_
Cesario. Count Lucio,
These seven years agone, when the Duke
sailed,
You were a child--a pretty, forward boy;
And I a young
lieutenant of the Guard,
Burning to serve abroad. But that day, rather,

I clenched my nails over an inward wound:
For that a something
manlier than my years--
Look, bearing, what-not--by the Duke not
miss'd,
Condemned me to promotion: I must bide
At home,
command the Guard! 'Tis an old hurt,
But scalded on my memory....
Well, they sailed!
And from the terrace here, sick with self-pity,

Wrapped in my wrong, forgetful of devoir,
I watch'd them through a
mist--turned with a sob--
Uptore my rooted sight--
There, there she stood;
Her hand press'd to her girdle, where the babe

Stirred in her body while she gazed--she gazed--
But slowly back
controlled her eyes, met mine;
So--with how wan, how small, how
brave a smile!--
Reached me her hands to kiss ...
O royal hands!
What burdens since they have borne let Adria tell.

But hear me swear by them, Count Lucio--
Who slights our Regent
throws his glove to me.
Lucio. Why, soothly, she's my sister!
Cesario. 'But the court
Is dull? No masques, few banquetings--and
prayers
Be long, and youth for pastime leaps the gate?'
Yet if the
money husbanded on feasts
Have fed our soldiery against the Turk,


Year after year, and still the State not starved;
Was't not well done?
And if, responsible
To God, and lonely, she has leaned on God
Too
heavily for our patience, was't not wise?--
And well, though weary?
Lucio. I tell you, she's my sister!
Cesario. Well, an you will, bridle on that. Lord Lucio,
You named
the Countess Fulvia. To my sorrow,
Two hours ago I called on her
and laid her
Under arrest.
Lucio. The devil! For what?
Cesario. For that
A lady, whose lord keeps summer in the hills
To
nurse a gouty foot, should penalize
His dutiful return by shutting
doors
And hanging out a ladder made of rope,
Or prove its safety
by rehearsing it
Upon a heavier man.
Lucio. I'll go to her.
Oh, this is infamous!
Cesario. Nay, be advised:
No hardship irks the lady, save to sit
At
home and feed her sparrows; nor no worse
Annoy than from her
balcony to spy
(Should the eye rove) a Switzer of the Guard
At post
between her raspberry-canes, to watch
And fright the thrushes from
forbidden fruit.
Lucio. Infamous! infamous!
Cesario. Enough, my lord:
The Regent!
[_Doors of the Chapel open. The organ sounds,
with voices of choir
chanting the recessional.
The Court enters from Mass, attending the

Regent Ottilia and her son Tonino. She wears
a crown and heavy
dalmatic. Her brother
Lucio, controlling himself with an effort, kisses

her hand and conducts her to the marble bench,
which serves for
her Chair of State. She bows,
receiving the homage of the crowd; but,

after
seating herself, appears for a few moments unconscious
of her
surroundings. Then, as her
rosary slips from her fingers and falls
heavily
at her feet, she speaks._
Regent. So slips the chain linking this world with Heaven, And drops
me back to earth: so slips the chain
That hangs my spirit to the
Redeemer's cross
Above pollution in the pure swept air

Whereunder frets this hive: so slips the chain--
_(She starts
up)_--God! the dear sound! Was that his anchor dropped? Speak to the
watchman, one! Call to the watch!
What news?
Cesario. Aloft! What news?
Voice above. No sail as yet!
Regent. Ah, pardon, sirs! My ears are strung to-day,
And play false
airs invented by the wind.
Methought a hawse-pipe rattled ...
_Gamba (chants to his viol). Shepherds, see--
Lo! What a mariner
love hath made me!_
Regent. What chants the Fool?
Gamba. Madonna, 'tis a trifle
Made by a silly poet on wives that
stand
All night at windows listening the surf--
Now he comes! Will
he come? Alas! no, no!
Lucio. Peace, lively! Madam, there is news--brave news!
I'm from the
watch-house. There the pilots tell
Of sixteen sail to the southward!
Sixteen sail,
And nearing fast!
Regent. Praise God! dear Lucio!
[_She has seated herself again. She takes Lucio's
hand and speaks,
petting it._

What? Glowing with my happiness? That's like you.
But for yourself
the hour, too, holds release.
_Lucio (between sullenness and shame, with a glance at
Cesario)._
"Release?"
Regent. You will forgive? I have great need
To be forgiven: sadly I
have been slack
In guardianship, and by so much betrayed
My
promise to our mother's passing soul.
Myself in cares immersed, I left
the child
Among his toys--and turn to find him man--
But yet so
much a boy that boyhood can
_(Wistfully)_ Laugh in his honest eyes?
Forgive me, Lucio!
Tell me, whate'er have slackened, there has
slipped
No knot of love. To-morrow we'll make sport,
Be playmates
and invent new games, and old--
Wreath flowers for crowns--
[_He drags his hand away. She gazes at