Vittoria — Complete by George Meredith (8 ebook reader .txt) 📖

beyond your ken. There lives a light that none can view Whose thoughts are brutish:—seen by few, The few have therefore light divine Their visions are God's legions!—sign, I give you; for we stand alone, And you are frozen to the bone. Your palsied hands refuse their swords. A sharper edge is in my words, A deadlier wound is in my cry. Yea, tho' you slay us, do we die? In forcing us to bear the worst, You made of us Immortals first. Away! and trouble not my sight.' Chorus of Cavaliers: RUDOLFO, ROMUALDO, ARNOLDO, and others. 'She moves us with an angel's might. What if his host outnumber ours! 'Tis heaven that gives victorious powers.' [They draw their steel. ORSO, simulating gratitude for their devotion to him, addresses them as to pacify their friendly ardour.] MICHIELLA to LEONARDO (supplicating). 'Ever my friend I shall I appeal In vain to see thy flashing steel?' LEONARDO (finally resolved). 'Traitress! pray, rather, it may rest, Or its first home will be thy breast.' Chorus of Bridal Company. 'The flowers from bright Aurora's head We pluck'd to strew a happy bed, Shall they be dipp'd in blood ere night? Woe to the nuptials! woe the sight!'

Rudolfo, Romualdo, Arnoldo, and the others, advance toward Camillo. Michiella calls to them encouragingly that it were well for the deed to be done by their hands. They bid Camillo to direct their lifted swords upon his enemies. Leonardo joins them. Count Orso, after a burst of upbraidings, accepts Camillo's offer of peace, and gives his bond to quit the castle. Michiella, gazing savagely at Camilla, entreats her for an utterance of her triumphant scorn. She assures Camilla that she knows her feelings accurately.

'Now you think that I am overwhelmed; that I shall have a restless night, and lie, after all my crying's over, with my hair spread out on my pillow, on either side my face, like green moss of a withered waterfall: you think you will bestow a little serpent of a gift from my stolen treasures to comfort me. You will comfort me with a lock of Camillo's hair, that I may have it on my breast to-night, and dream, and wail, and writhe, and curse the air I breathe, and clasp the abominable emptiness like a thousand Camillos. Speak!'

The dagger is seen gleaming up Michiella's wrist; she steps on in a bony triangle, faced for mischief: a savage Hunnish woman, with the hair of a Goddess—the figure of a cat taking to its forepaws. Close upon Camilla she towers in her whole height, and crying thrice, swift as the assassin trebles his blow, 'Speak,' to Camilla, who is fronting her mildly, she raises her arm, and the stilet flashes into Camilla's bosom.

'Die then, and outrage me no more.'

Camilla staggers to her husband. Camillo receives her falling. Michiella, seized by Leonardo, presents a stiffened shape of vengeance with fierce white eyes and dagger aloft. There are many shouts, and there is silence.

CAMILLA, supported by CAMILLO. 'If this is death, it is not hard to bear. Your handkerchief drinks up my blood so fast It seems to love it. Threads of my own hair Are woven in it. 'Tis the one I cast That midnight from my window, when you stood Alone, and heaven seemed to love you so! I did not think to wet it with my blood When next I tossed it to my love below.' CAMILLO (cherishing her). 'Camilla, pity! say you will not die. Your voice is like a soul lost in the sky.' CAMILLA. 'I know not if my soul has flown; I know My body is a weight I cannot raise: My voice between them issues, and I go Upon a journey of uncounted days. Forgetfulness is like a closing sea; But you are very bright above me still. My life I give as it was given to me I enter on a darkness wide and chill.' CAMILLO. 'O noble heart! a million fires consume The hateful hand that sends you to your doom.' CAMILLA. 'There is an end to joy: there is no end To striving; therefore ever let us strive In purity that shall the toil befriend, And keep our poor mortality alive. I hang upon the boundaries like light Along the hills when downward goes the day I feel the silent creeping up of night. For you, my husband, lies a flaming way.' CAMILLO. 'I lose your eyes: I lose your voice: 'tis faint. Ah, Christ! see the fallen eyelids of a saint.' CAMILLA. 'Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour: we are one With heaven and the stars when it is spent To serve God's aim: else die we with the sun.'

She sinks. Camillo droops his head above her.

The house was hushed as at a veritable death-scene. It was more like a cathedral service than an operatic pageant. Agostino had done his best to put the heart of the creed of his Chief into these last verses. Rocco's music floated them in solemn measures, and Vittoria had been careful to articulate throughout the sacred monotony so that their full meaning should be taken.

In the printed book of the libretto a chorus of cavaliers, followed by one harmless verse of Camilla's adieux to them, and to her husband and life, concluded the opera.

'Let her stop at that—it's enough!—and she shall be untouched,' said General Pierson to Antonio-Pericles.

'I have information, as you know, that an extremely impudent song is coming.'

The General saw Wilfrid hanging about the lobby, in flagrant disobedience to orders. Rebuking his nephew with a frown, he commanded the lieutenant to make his way round to the stage and see that the curtain was dropped according to the printed book.

'Off, mon Dieu! off!' Pericles speeded him; adding in English, 'Shall she taste prison-damp, zat voice is killed.'

The chorus of cavaliers was a lamentation: the keynote being despair: ordinary libretto verses.

Camilla's eyes unclose. She struggles to be lifted, and, raised on Camillo's arm, she sings as if with the last pulsation of her voice, softly resonant in its rich contralto. She pardons Michiella. She tells Count Orso that when he has extinguished his appetite for dominion, he will enjoy an unknown pleasure in the friendship of his neighbours. Repeating that her mother lives, and will some day kneel by her daughter's grave—not mournfully, but in beatitude—she utters her adieu to all.

At the moment of her doing so, Montini whispered in Vittoria's ear. She looked up and beheld the downward curl of the