Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays
Chapter 4 : There's more--I must remember--Bergamo, Where I was born--the house in Feltre where

There's more--I must remember--Bergamo, Where I was born--the house in Feltre where The uncles and the cousins were....

Then they put me upon a gallant steed Caparisoned most splendidly--they rode, Cousins and many others by my side.

And so I came here, from whence I now go....

[_She has leaned back and looked up at the glittering stars upon the black sky--she shudders_].

I wanted something else--

[_She searches her memory._]

In Bergamo where I was taught to walk Upon the path that brought me here, I was Often--most frequently through pride,--and now I am contrite and would go to confession For all those errors, and some graver ones;-- When I [_She ponders._]--three days after Saint Magdalen Was riding homeward from the chase with him.

This man, here, who's my husband--others too-- Upon the bridge an old lame beggar lay.

I knew that he was old and ill and sore And there was something in his tired eyes Reminded me of my dead father--but Nevertheless--only because the one Riding beside me touched my horse's bridle, I did not pull aside, but let the dust My horse kicked up, blind, choke that poor old man.

Yes, so close I rode that with his hands He had to lift aside his injured leg.

This I remember, this I now regret.

BRACCIO. The one beside you held your horse's bridle? [_He looks at her._]

DIANORA [_answers his look, understands him, says trenchantly_]:

Yes! Then as often since--as often since-- And yet how rarely after all!

How meager is all joy--a shallow stream In which you're forced to kneel, that it may reach Up to your shoulders--

BRACCIO.

Of my servants who,--of all your women, Who knew of these things?

DIANORA [_is silent_].

BRACCIO [_makes a disdainful gesture_].

DIANORA.

Falsely, quite falsely, you interpret now My silence. How can I tell you who might know?-- But if you think that I am one of those Who hides behind her hireling's her joy, You know me ill. Now note--note and take heed.

Once may a woman be--yes, once she may Be as I was for twelve weeks--once she may be If she had found no need of veil before, All veiled, protected by her own great pride As by a s.h.i.+eld--she once may rend that veil, Feel her cheeks crimson, burning in the sun.

Horrible she, who twice could such a thing!

I'm not of these--that surely you must know.

Who knew?--Who guessed? I never hid my thoughts?

Your brother must have known--just as you knew, Your brother just as you. Ask him, ask him!

[_Her voice is strange, almost childlike, yet exalted._]

That day--'twas in July, Saint Magdalen Francesco Chieregati's wedding day-- That nasty thing upon your hand came then, Came on that day. Well, I remember too We dined out in the arbor--near the lake, And he sat next to me, while opposite Your brother sat. Then pa.s.sing me the fruit, Palla did hold the heavy gold dish Of luscious peaches so that I might take.

My eyes were fastened on his hands--I longed To humbly kiss his hands, there,--before all.

Your brother--he's malicious and no fool-- Caught this my glance, and must have guessed my thought.

He paled with anger.--Sudden came a dog, A tall dark greyhound brushed his slender head Against my hand--the left one by my side,-- Your stupid brother kicked in furious rage With all his might, the dog--only because He could not with a s.h.i.+ning dagger pierce Me and my lover. I but looked at him.

Caressed and stroked the dog, and had to laugh

[_She laughs immoderately and shrilly in a way that threatens to be a scream, or to break into tears at any moment._]

BRACCIO [_seems to listen_].

DIANORA [_also listens. Her face expresses horrible tension. Soon she cannot bear it, begins to speak again almost deliriously_].

Why whosoever saw me walk would know!

Walked I not differently? Did not I ride Ecstatically? I could look at you And at your brother and this gloomy house And feel as light as air, floating in s.p.a.ce.

The myriad trees seemed all to come to me Filled with the sunlight dancing toward me, All paths were open in the azure air-- Those sunlit paths were all the roads to him.

To start with fright was sweet--he might appear From any corner, any bush or tree--

[_Her language becomes incoherent from terror, because she sees that Braccio has drawn the curtains behind him close. Her eyes are unnaturally wide open--her lips drawn more constantly._]

BRACCIO [_in a tone that the actor must find for himself, not loud, not low, not strong, nor yet weak, but penetrating_].

If I, your husband, had not at this hour Come to your chamber to fetch me a salve, An ointment for my wounded hand-- What would-- What had you done, intended, meant to do?

DIANORA [_looks at him, as though distraught, does not understand his latest question. Her right hand presses her forehead--with the left she shakes the ladder before his face, lets it fall at his feet, one end remains tied, shrieks_].

What had I done? What had I done, you ask?

Why, waited thus--I would have waited--

[_She sways her open arms before him like one intoxicated, throws herself around, with the upper part of her body over the bal.u.s.trade, stretches her arms towards the ground--her hair falls over them._]

BRACCIO [_with a hurried gesture tears off a piece of his sleeve and winds it around his right hand. With the sureness of a wild animal on the hunt, he grasps the ladder that is lying there, like a thin, dark rope, with both hands, makes a loop, throws it over his wife's head and pulls her body towards him._]

[_During this time the curtain falls._]

LITERATURE

A COMEDY

BY ARTHUR SCHNITZLER TRANSLATED BY PIERRE LOVING.

Copyright, 1917, by Stewart & Kidd Company.

All rights reserved.

PERSONS

MARGARET.

CLEMENT.

GILBERT.

LITERATURE is reprinted from "Comedies of Words" by Arthur Schnitzler, by permission of Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.