The Confessional

V

Dramatic Not in the Drama

Anonymous

'Twas twilight, and the early lighted lamps

Were flickering down into the Arno's tide

While yet the daylight lingered in the skies,

Silvering and paling, when I saw him first.

I was returning from my work, and paused

Upon the bridge of Santa Trinita

To rest, and think how fair our Florence is.

And I remember, o'er the hazy hills,

Far, far away, how exquisitely fair

The twilight seemed that night. My heart was soft

With tender longings, misted with a dim,

Sad pleasure as a mirror with the breath.

Ah, never will those feelings come again!

I was in a mood to take a stamp

From any passing chance, even like those clouds

That caught the tenderest thrill of dying day,

When, by some inward sense, I know not what,

I felt that I was gazed at, drawn away

By eyes that had a strange magnetic will.

And so I turned from those far hills to see—

A stranger? No; even then he did not seem

A stranger, but as one I once had known,

Not here in Florence, not in any place,

But somewhere in my spirit known and seen.

I felt his eyes were fixed upon me,

And a sweet, serious smile was on his lips:

Nor could I help but look and smile again.

I know not what it was went to and fro

Between us in that swift smile and glance.

We neither spoke;

But something went that thrilled me through and through.

And that quick clash of souls

Had struck a spark that set my soul on fire.

And I was happy, oh, so happy then!

It seemed as if this earth could never add

One little drop more to the joy I owned,

For all that passionate torrent pent within

My heart had found its utterance and response.

He was Venetian, and that radiant hair

We black-haired girls so covet haloed round

His sunny northern face and soft blue eyes.

I know not why he loved me—me, so black,

With this black skin that every Roman has,

With this black hair, black eyes, that I so hate.

Why loved he not Beata? she is fair,

But yet he often swore to me Beata's body

Was not worth one half my finger,

And then kissed me full upon the mouth as if to seal his oath;

Ah! glorious seal—I feel those lips there now!

And on my forehead, too, one kiss still glows

Like a great star.

Ah! well! those days are gone. No! no!

They are not gone; I love him madly now.

I love him madly as I loved him then.

Ah, God! how blissfully those days went by!

You could not fill a golden cup more full

Of rubied wine than was my heart with joy.

Long mornings in his studio, there I sat

And heard his voice; or, when he did not speak,

I felt his presence like a rich perfume,

Fill all my thoughts.

I was his model. Hours and hours I posed

For him to paint his Cleopatra, fierce,

With her squared brows, and full Egyptian lips;

A great gold serpent on her rounded arm,

And a broad band of gold around her head.

At last the autumn came, the stricken, bleeding autumn.

Something weighed upon his mind I could not understand.

I knew all was not right, yet dared not ask.

At last few words made all things plain;

"Love, I must go to Venice." "Must?" "Yes, must."

"Then I go, too." "No, no; ah, Nina, no.

Four weeks pass swiftly; one short month, and then

I shall return to Florence, and to you."

Vain were my words. He went, alas! he went

With all the sunshine, and I wore alone

The weary weeks out of that hateful month.

Another month I waited, nervous, fierce

With love's impatience. When that month was gone

My heart was all afire; I could not stay.

Consumed with jealous fears that wore me down

Into a fever, necklace, earrings—all

I sold, and on to Venice rushed. How long

That dreary, never-ending journey seemed!

I cursed the hills up which we slowly dragged,

The long, flat plains of Lombardy I cursed,

That kept me back from Venice.

But at last in a black gondola I swam along

The sea-built city, and my heart was big

With the glad thought that I was near to him.

Yes, gladness came upon me that soft night,

And jealousy was hushed, and hope led on

My dancing heart. In vain I strove to curb

My glad impatience—I must see him then,

At once, that very night; I could not wait

The tardy morning—'twas a year away.

I only gave the gondolier his name,

And said, "You know him?" "Yes."

"Then row me quick to where he is."

He bowed and on he went,

And as we swept along, I leaned me out

And dragged my burning fingers in the wave,

My hurried heart forecasting to itself our meeting,

What he'd say and think,

How I should hang upon his neck and say:

"I could not longer live without you, dear."

At last we paused. The gondolier said,

"This is the palace." I was struck aghast.

It flared with lights, that from the windows gleamed

And trickled down into the black canal.

"Stop! stop!" I cried; "'tis some mistake.

Why are these lights? This palace is not his.

He owns no palace." "Pardon," answered he,

"I fancied the signora wished to see

The marriage festa—and all Venice knows

The bride receives to-night." "What bride, whose bride?"

I asked, impatient. "Count Alberti's bride,

Whose else?" he answered, with a shrug. My heart,

From its glad, singing height, dropped like a lark

Shot dead, at these few words. The whole world reeled,

And for a moment I was crushed and stunned.

Then came the wild revulsion of despair;

Then, calm more dreadful than the fiercest pain.

"Row me to the steps," I said. I leaped

On their wet edge, and stared in at the door

Where all was hurry, rush, and flare of light.

My eyes ran, lightning, zigzag, through the crowd

In search of him—he was not there. Ah, God!

I breathed. He was not there! I inly cursed

My unbelief, and turned me round to go.

There was a sudden murmur near the door,

And I beheld him—walking at her side.

Oh! cursèd be the hour I saw that sight,

And cursèd be the place! I saw those eyes

That used to look such passion into mine

Turned with the selfsame look to other eyes,

Yes, light blue eyes, that upward gazed at him.

I could not bear their bliss.

I scarcely knew what happened then; I knew

I felt for the stiletto in my vest

With purpose that was half mechanical,

As if a demon used my hand for his.

I felt the red blood singing through my brain,

I struck—before me, at my feet, she fell.

Who was the queen then? Ah! your rank and wealth,

Your pearls and splendors—what did they avail

Against the sharp stiletto's little point?

You should have thought of that before you dared—

You had all the world beside—to steal

The only treasure that the Roman girl e'er had.

You will not smile again as then you smiled.

Thank God, you'll never smile again for him!

I was avenged, avenged, until I saw

The dreadful look he gave me as he turned

From her dead face and looked in mine. Ah, God!

It haunts me, scares me, will not let me sleep.

When will he come and tell me he forgives

And loves me still? Oh, bid him come,

Come quickly, come and let me die in peace.

I could not help it; I was mad;

But I repent, I suffer; he at least

Should pity and forgive. Oh, make him come

And say he loves me, and then let me die.

I shall be ready then to die; but now

I cannot think of God; my heart is hell,

Until I know he loves me still.