University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

OPEN SPACE NEAR THE BALISTA GATE IN ANCONA. The Lady Malaspina, her Infant, and a Soldier.
Soldier.
I am worn down with famine, and can live
But few hours more.

L. Malaspina.
I have no food.

Soldier.
Nor food
Could I now swallow. Bring me water, water!

L. Malaspina.
Alas! I can not. Strive to gain the fountain.

Soldier.
I have been nigh.

L. Malaspina.
And could not reach it?

Soldier.
Crowds
I might pierce through, but how thrust back their cries?
They madden'd me to flight ere half-way in.
Some upright . . no, none that . . but some unfallen,
Yet pressing down with their light weight the weaker.
The brows of some were bent down to their knees,
Others (the hair seized fast by those behind)
Lifted for the last time their eyes to heaven;
And there were waves of heads one moment's space
Seen, then unseen forever. Wails rose up
Half stifled underfoot, from children some,
And some from those who bore them.

L. Malaspina.
Mercy! mercy!
O blessed Virgin! thou wert mother too!
How didst thou suffer! how did He! Save, save
At least the infants, if all else must perish.
Soldier! brave soldier! dost thou weep? then hope.

Soldier.
I suffer'd for myself; deserve I mercy?

L. Malaspina.
He who speaks thus shall find it. Try to rise.

Soldier.
No: could I reach the fountain in my thirst,
I would not.

L. Malaspina.
Life is sweet.

Soldier.
To brides, to mothers.

L. Malaspina.
Alas! how soon may those names pass away!
I would support thee partly, wert thou willing,
But my babe sleeps.

Soldier.
Sleep, little one, sleep on!
I shall sleep too as soundly, by and by.

L. Malaspina.
Courage, one effort more.

Soldier.
And tread on children!
On children clinging to my knees for strength
To help them on, and with enough yet left
To pull me down, but others pull down them.
God! let me bear this thirst, but never more
Bear this sad sight! Tread on those tiny hands
Clasping the dust! See those dim eyes upturn'd,
Those rigid lips reproachless! Man may stir,
Woman may shake, my soul; but children, children!
O God! those are thine own! make haste to help them!
Happy that babe!

L. Malaspina.
Thou art humane.

Soldier.
'Tis said
That hunger is almost as bad as wealth
To make men selfish; but such feebleness
Comes over me, all things look dim around,
And life most dim, and least worth looking after.

L. Malaspina.
I pity thee. Day after day myself
Have lived on things unmeet for sustenance.
My milk is failing . . Rise . . (To the Child)

My little one!
God will feed thee! Be sleep thy nourisher
Until his mercies strengthen me afresh!
Sink not: take heart: advance: Here, where from heaven
The Virgin-mother can alone behold us,
Draw some few drops.

[The tocsin sounds.
Soldier.
Ha! my ears boom thro' faintness.
What sounds?

L. Malaspina.
The bell.

Soldier.
Then they are at the gate . .
I can but thank you . . Give me force, O Heaven!
For this last fight! . . and keep from harm these twain!

Malaspina and Child alone.
L. Malaspina.
And still thou sleepest, my sweet babe! Is death
Like sleep? Ah, who then, who would fear to die?
How beautiful is all serenity!
Sleep, a child's sleep, O how far more serene,
And O, how far more beautiful than any!
Whether we breathe so gently or breathe not,
Slight is the difference. But the pangs, the rage
Of famine who can bear? . . unless to raise
Her child above it!

(Two Priests are passing.)
First Priest.
Who sits yonder? bent
O'er her dead babe? as many do within
Their houses!

Second Priest.
Surely, surely, it must be
She who, not many days ago, was praised
For beauty, purity, humility,
Above the noblest of Anconite dames.

First Priest.
The Lady Malaspina?

Second Priest.
But methinks
The babe is not dead yet.

First Priest.
Why think you so?

Second Priest.
Because she weeps not over it.

First Priest.
For that
I think it dead. It then could pierce no more
Her tender heart with its sad sobs and cries.
But let us hasten from the place to give
The dying their last bread, the only bread
Yet unconsumed, the blessed eucharist.
Even this little, now so many die,
May soon be wanting.

Second Priest.
God will never let
That greater woe befall us.

[The Priests go.
Malaspina.
Who runs hither? [The Soldier falls before her.

Art thou come back? So! thou couldst run, O vile!

Soldier.
Lady! your gentleness kept life within me
Until four fell.

L. Malaspina.
Thyself unwounded?

Soldier.
No;
If arms alone can wound the soldier's breast,
They toucht me not this time; nor needed they;
Famine had done what your few words achieved.

L. Malaspina.
They were too harsh. Forgive me!

Soldier.
Not the last.
Those were not harsh! Enter my bosom, enter,
Kind pitying words! untie there life's hard knot,
And let it drop off easily! How blest!
I have not robb'd the child, nor shamed the mother!

[He dies.
L. Malaspina.
Poor soul! and the last voice he heard on earth
Was bitter blame, unmerited! And whose?
Mine, mine! Should they who suffer sting the sufferer?
O saints above! avenge not this misdeed!
What doth his hand hold out? A little crate,
With german letters round its inner rim . .
And . . full of wine! Yet did his lips burn white!
He tasted not what might have saved his life,
But brought it hither, to be scorn'd and die. [Singers are heard in the same open space before an image.]

Singers! where are they? My sight swims; my strength
Fails me; I can not rise, nor turn to look;
But only I can pray, and never voice
Prays like the sad and silent heart its last.