University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

[A place under the city walls,—time, an hour after sunset.]
ANTONIO,
[embracing PHILOTA constrainedly].
How kind thou art!

PHILOTA.
I but obeyed your mandate!

ANTONIO.
Nay, why so cold? my troth is thine, Philota,—
Dost thou remember?

PHILOTA.
Would'st thou have me do so?
Methought that dream was over,—by thy wish.

ANTONIO.
By heaven! I never said so!

PHILOTA.
Yet thy heart,
Thy heart, Antonio, spake the keen desire,
Although thy lips kept silence;—I have learned
To read thy spirit like an open book,
And cannot be deceived;—all's changed with us;
Never again, as in the time that's past,
Shall we, hand linked in hand, explore the vales,
Or walk the shining hill-tops; thou hast risen
Far, far above my level; a great man,
Among the greatest,—thou wert mad t' espouse
A humble girl like me; I ask it not;
My love but burdens thy aspiring hopes,
So, I beseech thee, dwell no more upon it:
Antonio, for thy welfare I would give
My soul's life; shall I then refuse to yield
A personal joy, that thou may'st win and wed
The immortal virgin—Glory? Dream it not!
Oh! dream it not!

ANTONIO.
Now, gracious God, forgive me!
It were presumption, should I kiss thy feet,
Thou pure, unselfish woman! yet thy words
Are true, too true, and I dare not gainsay them.
One thing believe, Philota, I am wretched,
Yes, far more so than thou art:
[After a pause.]
—Did'st thou know
The terrible life I lead in this dread warfare,
Through what an atmosphere of blood and carnage
It is my doom to move, as through the air
Of some plague-stricken city, thick with curses;
Did'st know the numberless dangers, that like demons
(Many unseen,—and therefore doubly fearful),
Which hover 'round the soldier, hour by hour
O'ershadowing life with the black gloom of death;
Did'st know the coarse companions, the rude manners
Of vile extortioners, bent alone on prey,
And personal profit, and the thousand evils
Gendered of strife, and strife's unhallowed passions,
O, thou would'st shrink from following such base courses,
Even as an angel from the brink of hell!

PHILOTA.
Thou wrong'st my love, and hast deceived thyself;
Where'er thou art, to me that place is heaven;
Antonio, God alone, God and my soul
Know what I might, and would have been to thee!
I would have shared thy fortunes, joined my fate
For weal or woe, for honor or disgrace,
For life or death to thine; have tracked thy steps,
(If need it were,) through seas of blood and carnage,
Strengthened thy weakness, buoyed thy sinking hopes,
Nor, at the worst, have shed one woman's tear
To shake thy manhood. Had heaven blessed thy cause,
I would have striven to make my spirit worthy
To mount with thee; so, when the orbèd glory
Shone like the fire of sunrise round thy brow,
No man dare say that with that lustre mingled
One blush of shame for Melidori's wife!
This might have been, and this shall never be.
[Wildly.]
I' th' name of mercy, by thy mother's soul,
And the dear past, I pray thee leave me now,
While still thou lov'st me (dost thou not?) a little.

ANTONIO.
And thou—and thou, Philota?—

PHILOTA.
I shall dwell
In peace; [aside]
ay! broken hearts are peaceful!

ANTONIO.
But where?—

PHILOTA.
What matter where, so that I live in peace?
Grieve not, Antonio. In my humble station
One thought shall bring content;—“he was not false,”
No mortal maiden stole Antonio's heart!

ANTONIO.
Blessèd words!
'Tis true I love but thee!

PHILOTA.
Then do not sorrow.
Love, I forgive thee; thou hast wronged me not.
And for the child—ah, I shall dream it thine;
Tend it as thine, and when the years have ripened
That infant soul, 'tis mine to lead to virtue,
I'll teach the boy how noble was the act
Whereby Antonio saved him; I'll be happy,
Oh, trust me, Love! so very, very happy!

ANTONIO.
Then be it so, Philota. I would bless thee,
But am not worthy; still, thou shalt be blessed.

PHILOTA.
And thou, too, if the Virgin hear my prayers;
And now that we are friends, but friends, though firm ones,
Beseech thee, list my tidings. There's a foe,
A deadly, treacherous foe in thine own camp,
And one who vows thy ruin; it is Rousso;
Thou knowest how first his envious, bitter temper
Was stung to hatred; since that time, thy will
Hath often clashed with his; besides, thy fame
In these fierce wars hath far o'ertopped his credit;
So he has sworn thy death; the voice was his,
That goaded on thy soldiers to rebellion;
And, as I threaded my uncertain pathway,
A short hour since, through the dark streets of Sphakia,
I heard thy name in whispers; two dim forms
(Men, as I knew by their hoarse tones,) conferred
With hurried, stealthy gestures, and one sentence
Startled me like a knell:—“His tomb is open,”
A deep voice said; “Antonio's tomb is open!”
Oh, then, beware. As lowly as thou deem'st me,
I'll watch above thy safety; the soft dove
May warn the eagle of the midnight spoiler!

ANTONIO.
And thy own life and safety—

PHILOTA.
I am here
To spend them both for thee. But hark! thy name
Is shouted by thy comrades in the valley.
The hour has come that parts us. Fare thee well!

[She gives him her hand.]
ANTONIO.
'Twas not our wont to part in this cold fashion;
Come, one more kiss, Philota! let me feel
We were indeed betrothed; one last, last kiss!

[They embrace and part.]