University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Bertha. Leitra.
BERTHA.
The embers cast a cold dim light around,
And the wan lamp seems weary with our watch.—
O Leitra, do not look so fearfully.

LEITRA.
Now, holy saints! who brought that picture here?

BERTHA.
That picture—oh, now, Leitra, thy strange tales
Made me forget what Jaromir had done.
In the east turret's old deserted rooms
He saw a lovely portrait almost hid
By the gray cobwebs and the gather'd dust;
That he had clear'd it carefully, and thought
It should be with my favourite pictures hung—
And here it is, my own kind Jaromir.

LEITRA.
He brought it here!—O Bertha, kneel and pray!—
The shadowy likeness, when the actual shape
Is distant far; the dream whose prophecy
Comes when we waken terribly distinct;
The shriek the grave sends up in the still night,
Are not such deadly omens as that face.
My young, my good, my fair, what hath the curse
That is upon thine house to do with thee?

BERTHA.
What do you mean? Speak, speak!—the very sound
Of my own voice is terrible!—what curse?—
Whose is this picture?

LEITRA.
It is The Ancestress!

BERTHA.
My Ancestress?—and a most lovely one:
Yet is her beauty awful:—the pale cheek
Looks as if passion had fed on its rose;
The lips are pale, too, though their graceful curve
Fascinates in its scorn; her loose dark air,
Wild as a sibyl's, sweeps as if't had caught
Its wildness and its darkness from the storm;
Her eyes, like moonlight melancholy, seem
So deep, so spiritual,—such the far light
Of stars which are a mystery; like a queen's
For grace, and like a swan's for snow, her neck
Thrown back so haughtily; and her black robe,
Her golden girdle with strange characters,
Suit her strange loveliness so well.

LEITRA.
Hush, hush!
Your thoughtless words sound like impiety.
I had not meant to tell her history,
But it is best you know it. Never came
That portrait here by but a simple chance.
She was a princess of the olden time,
So beautiful, that kings laid down their crowns
Like flowers before her, and her halls were throng'd
With lovers, and of life she took no thought,
Save for its pleasures; but as years pass'd on
She felt her insecurity, and cursed
Her own fair face for fading. Suddenly
She grew more lovely, as if age to her
Were but a second youth; again her halls
Were fill'd with worshippers, and day and night
Consumed in revels; when, as suddenly
As summer had revisited her face,
She pass'd away. On his deathbed a monk
Told a wild legend, how one autumn eve
He leant in his confessional alone,
And a most radiant lady knelt and wept
Over the one unpardonable sin.
How for the sake of lasting loveliness
Her soul was forfeit to the evil power,
Who tempted her with beauty. Then she said
It was now mock'd by ceaseless tears, which fell,
Although in vain; how she from shrine to shrine
Had gone in late repentant pilgrimage.
Her knees were worn with many prayers; but still
The presence of the demon haunted her.
Then rose a spirit of strong prophecy
Upon that aged monk: he said her crime
Was fearful, so would be its punishment;
That for her sin a curse was on her race,
Which she would witness:—sorrow, early death,
Sickness, and guilt would be her children's lot;
That, still bound by her human sympathy,
Although debarr'd all human intercourse,
She now was doom'd to wander o'er the earth,
A witness of their misery, till not one
Remain'd of her descendants; then the grave
Would be her resting-place, and she might hope
That the most infinite mercy of the Cross
Might sanctify a sinner's penitence.—
Bertha, this was your Ancestress. My child,
Yon portrait is an evil omen here.

BERTHA.
There is another where my heart can turn:—
Gentlest Madonna, from my early years
Thou hast been as the mother I have lost,
In patience and in comfort. Leitra,
I am too sad for more of these dark tales:—
Good night!

LEITRA.
Now blessings rest upon thee, my sweet child!
There's not a bead upon my rosary
That shall not count a prayer for thy dear sake.