University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

[The cottage of Philota, at the foot of Mount Psiloriti. Philota discovered at the window, looking out upon the night, which is bleak and stormy.]
PHILOTA.
Hark! how those lusty trumpeters, the winds,
Urge on the black battalions of the clouds;
And see! the swollen rivulets rushing down
The sides of Psiloriti! Yesterday,
'Neath the clear calm of the serenest morn
Earth ever stole from Paradise, they swept,
Bright curves of laughing silver in the sunshine;
But now, an overmastering rush of floods,
They thunder to the heavens, that answer back
From the wild depths of gloom,—an awful tempest!

[Enter Antonio hastily.]
ANTONIO.
Where is the priest, Philota? where is Andreas?
Was he not here to-night?

PHILOTA.
Ay! but left some half hour since!

ANTONIO.
What say you?
Oh, the poor father!—then 'twas him I saw
Pent 'twixt the mountain torrents; he is lost!
The good old man!—and yet, not so, not so!
Give me yon oaken staff,—and, hold; a flask
Of the best vintage; I'll be back anon,
And the dear father with me:—

[Exit Antonio. Philota kneels before an image of the Virgin, and prays for the safety of her lover. After the lapse of some minutes, enter Rousso stealthily, wrapped in a cloak, which partly conceals his features.]
ROUSSO
[aside].
Faith! a pretty picture!
Now, were I what fools call poetical,
I'd worship her, whilst she adores the saint,—
A lovelier saint herself, and nearer truly
To the just standard of divinity
Than yonder painted image; there's the curve,
The old Greek curve, in the voluptuous swell
Of those full lips; the passion in her eyes
Is shadowed off to melancholy meaning,
Only to waken to meridian life,
When a like passion touches it to flame.

PHILOTA
[praying].
Oh, merciful Mother! save him,—save Antonio!

ROUSSO
[aside].
Oh, potent Devil! claim him,—claim Antonio!
What! shall this malapert boy dispute my love?

[Philota, rising, discovers Rousso, towards whom (mistaking him for Antonio), she rushes, as if about to cast herself into his arms, but discovering her error, she shrinks back.]
PHILOTA.
You here!

ROUSSO
[advancing].
I crave protection, shelter,—may I stay?

PHILOTA.
At a safe distance, Sir!

ROUSSO.
Why, what means this?
I looked for kindlier welcome!

PHILOTA.
Wherefore, Rousso?
What thou hast asked, I grant,—protection, shelter;
Durst thou claim more than these?

ROUSSO.
I' faith thy temper is most strange and wayward!
Because, some months agone, not quite myself,
I ventured at the harvest of the olive,
Upon one innocent liberty—

PHILOTA.
No liberty,
With me, at least, bold man! is rated thus!

ROUSSO.
I do repeat, that I was not myself;
Blame the hot wine of Cyprus; spare your slave! [Kneeling.]


PHILOTA.
A slave, indeed!—

ROUSSO.
But one who stoops to conquer, fair Philota;
If I have knelt, 'tis only that I may
Rise thus, and clasp thee! Hold, no foolish cries,
No weak, vain strugglings! Think'st thou that the storm
Pealing adown the mountain's rugged steeps
Can bear these feeble wailings to thy friends?
Come, come, Philota!—if thou could'st believe it,
I am the very worthiest of thy vassals;
List for an instant, while I paint the beauty
Of a far Eden waiting for the light,
The sundawn of thine eyes:—
Amid the waves
Of the Ægean, bosomed in the calm
Of ever-during summer, sleeps an isle
Whereon the ocean ripples into music;
Through whose luxuriant wilderness of blooms,
The soft winds sigh their breath away in dreams,
Where—(the deuce take me! I forget my part)—
Where—where—where—i' sooth, a place
To live, to love, to die in, and revisit
From the sad vale of shadows, with a touch
Of mortal fondness, overmastering death.
Wilt thou go thither with me? Nay, thou must!

[As Rousso attempts to carry Philota from the apartment, she recovers, and, by a sudden effort, releases herself from his arms.]
ROUSSO.
Pardon, Philota! 'tis my eager love
Which thus hath urged me on; thou tremblest! what?
I would not make thee fear me.

PHILOTA.
Fear! fear!
If my cheek pales, it is not cowardice
That plays the tyrant to the exiled blood;
If my frame trembles, there are other moods
Than that thou speak'st of, to unstring its firmness;
Thy presence brings no terrors; dost thou talk
Of fear to a Greek woman?

ROUSSO.
No! no! not fear, but love!

PHILOTA.
Man, man! I pray thee
Blaspheme not thus! what canst thou know of love?
'Tis true thou speak'st it boldly; from thy lips
The word falls with a rounded fullness off,
And yet, believe me, thou hast used a phrase,
(A sacred phrase, and wretchedly profaned),
Which, were thy years thrice lengthened out beyond
The general limit of our mortal lives,
And thou be made to pass through all extremes
Of multiform experience, it could never
Enter thy sordid soul to comprehend!

ROUSSO.
Bravely delivered! by my soul, I think
We both make good declaimers! Where did'st learn
That pretty speech, Philota?

PHILOTA.
Wilt thou leave me?

ROUSSO.
Pshaw! thou art less than courteous. Leave thee! no!
I will not leave thee! Hark ye, my proud damsel,
I am not one with whom 'tis safe to trifle,
Thou knowest, or shalt know this; so, mark my words,
Long have I wooed thee fairly, would have won thee,
Yea, and endowed thee with both wealth and station;
Twice hast thou heard my proffer, twice with loathing
Spurned it, and me; I shall not woo thee thrice
With honeyed words; no, 'tis the strong arm now.
I am prepared for all; come on!

[He seizes Philota a second time, but enter on the instant Antonio, with the Monk Andreas leaning upon him.]
PHILOTA
[faintly].
Saved! saved!

ANTONIO.
Ha, Rousso, I have heard it whispered oft
Amongst thy watchful brethren in this isle,
That underneath that smooth and flattering front
There lurked a mine of blackest villany!
Faith! I denied it once; what shall I say
When next the public voice decries you, sir?

ROUSSO.
A jest! I do assure you but a jest!
This cloak, which in your self-devoted flight
To rescue the dear father, Andreas
(How glad I am to see his saintship safe),
You dropped some furlongs from the mountain's base,
I cast, in sportive fashion, on my person,
And deeming that Philota would rejoice
To hear that thou had'st so far braved the force
O' th' treacherous elements, I called upon her;
She did me the vast honor to confound
Your humble servant with Antonio,
And 'ere I was aware, sprang to my arms,
With such a blinded ecstasy of rapture,
That I had wellnigh sunk into the earth,
From the mere stress of native modesty!
A jest, a jest, and nothing but a jest.

ANTONIO.
Such jesting may be dangerous,—beware!