Kitobni o'qish: «Porzia»
To
GILBERT MURRAY
Poet, Dramatist, and Master-Interpreter of a greatliterature
PREFACE
Some years ago while writing "A Night In Avignon" the thought came to me of framing two other plays that should deal respectively with the Renaissance spirit at its height and decadence, as that play had dealt with it at its beginning. For the great human upheaval that came intoxicatingly to Italy during the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries is so full of æsthetic contrast and glamor as to be peculiarly suitable for the doubly exacting purposes of poetic drama.
"Giorgione," the second of these plays to be written, was published in 1911 with three other plays in a volume entitled "The Immortal Lure," and like "A Night In Avignon" was received with such kindness as to encourage me to write the third, here presented under the name of "Porzia."
This last play, whose period is that of "decadent Humanism," or as Symonds prefers to call it, of "The Catholic Reaction," is laid in Naples, where the passions of men, more than freed from the long domination of the Church and the Hereafter, seemed to reach in their grasp at this life almost incredible heights and depths of excess. And yet from amid this excess, as from a rank and unweeded garden, were springing into flower many seeds of modern intellectual enfranchisement, as the achievements of Bruno and his contemporaries witness.
I need only add that I have sought to use materials that would be true to the time of this final portrayal, and that I therefore trust it may be understood as an organic member of the group to which it belongs.
C. Y. R.
Louisville, Kentucky, June, 1912.
ACT I
CHARACTERS
RIZZIO DI ROSSI A young Leader of the Literati at Naples, suspected of heresy
OSIO His Brother
PORZIA His Wife
ALOYSIUS Her Uncle, a Physician
BIANCA Her Cousin, a Florentine, once betrothed to Osio
GIORDANO BRUNO A young Dominican, also heretical
MONSIGNOR QUERIO An Officer of the Inquisition
TASSO A Poet
MARINA A Sicilian serving Porzia
MATTEO Serving Rizzio, later Osio
Dancers from Capri, Musicians, Guards of the Inquisition, etc.
TIME —About 1570
PORZIA
Scene: A portion of the house, terrace and garden of Rizzio on his wedding day at Naples. It is so situated as to command a view of the city, the blue Bay with Capri set like a topaz in it, the Vesuvian coast, and the Mountain itself – rising like a calm though unappeasable monitor against the land's too sensual enchantment.
The house, a white corner of which is visible along the right, has large doors toward the back giving upon the terrace. A vine-clad terrace wall, several feet above the level of the terrace, but much above that of the street without, runs across the rear to a cypress-set gate in the centre, and on into the lustrous Spring foliage of ilex, myrtle and orange.
A pedestaled image of the Virgin against the house, a statue of Pan before a bower opposite, and several stone seats forward, are decked with orange blossoms that glow in the light of late afternoon.
Music, reveling, and laughter are heard, muffled, within. Then amid a louder burst of them Osio strides angrily forth. He is followed in argumentative elation by Rizzio – clothed in Greek raiment, a book in his hand – and by Bruno.
Osio (as they come down).
Proof from the teeth of aliens and fools
And infidels that follow their own reason?
I want no proof! your books should burn in Hell!
Rizzio (gaily).
Because they glorify the stars in heaven?
Osio.
I say they are heresy!
Rizzio.
And I say truth!
[Uplifts volume.
That were your ears not stopped with sophistries
And Jesuitry you would adjudge divine!
[Tosses it down.
Bruno.
Ai, Signor Osio, there's no denying!
[Porzia appears anxiously at the door.
We need but look,
To learn that stars are worlds
Swung out upon infinitudes of space.
And as for earth —
Tho Christ shed blood upon it —
'Tis but a pilgrim flame among them all.
[Porzia leaves door.
Osio (turning upon him).
And you, a monk, will say so to the Church
And to the Holy Office?
Bruno (in humorous alarm).
God forbid!
Osio.
And you, Rizzio, who on your wedding-day,
Mid rites of Venus
And revels to Apollo,
Wear pagan robes – and prink others in them —
Rizzio.
Ho, others! meaning Porzia?
Osio.
I say —
[Mirth within.
Rizzio (laughing at him).
What, what, my merry raging brother, more?
That Pan is not your god, whom I but now
Besought for inward beauty and truth of soul?
No, no, he is not, by Vesuvius!
Osio.
I say —
Rizzio.
That Plato and the ancients are
A plague which only the Pope can purge from earth?
[Again laughing.
Ai! to the flames with them, and with all fairness!
Osio.
I say that you —
Rizzio.
Hey, yea! that I who fall
Not on my knees to mitred villainy —
Or cringe to crosiered craft —
And yet whose life is lit for truth and freedom —
Am viler far than you
Who take your pleasure and pay it with confession?
Who think the Devil with faith would be no Devil?
[Porzia again appears with Bianca.
You hear it, Bruno?
Osio.
I say there is one thing
You shall not do!
Rizzio.
So-ho! my lordly brother,
My breaker of betrothals – if not creeds —
And that is what?
Osio.
I will protect her from it!
Rizzio.
Her?
Osio.
Porzia! from the passion of your lies!
[Astonishment.
Rizzio (stung, staring).
By … all the saints
and fiends and incubi
That ever infested night and nunneries!
What frenzy now is biting at your brain!
[Before him.
Is she your wife, so to concern your care?
[They face, pale.
Porzia (who sees, and with Bianca comes quickly, winningly down).
Heresy! heresy! truth and heresy!
Are there no other words in all the world
To pour as wine
Upon a wedding-day! —
Are these your ways, my newly wedded lord,
To leave me, an hour's bride, away from home —
From my dear uncle's home —
With but a friend or two for comforting —
And bandy words of other stars than those
You swear to see when gazing in my eyes!
Rizzio (responsively).
My Porzia!
Porzia.
No, no! I'll not forgive you!
For is it not ill boding to our bridals
You quarrel over the heavens – and not me!
[As he laughs.
My beauty, he says, this husband I have taken,
Is life – and yet ere 'tis an hour his
Forgets to live on it! – and Osio,
The brother of him, —
E'en Osio there —
Rizzio (gay again).
Who swears he will protect you!
[Osio starts.
Porzia.
Protect?
Rizzio.
Against the heresy of robes
Of pagan fashion – and against your husband!
[Constraint. Porzia sees Bianca flush.
Porzia.
I do not understand – unless you jest,
As oft – too oft you do!
Or mean perchance Bianca … unto whom
He was betrothed
And whom he would, this breath,
Be wooing again, were I, not words, your bride!
[Then winningly again, as Marina enters.
But see, here is Marina! the dance awaits!
[Music is heard.
Let us go in and give ourselves to Joy,
For Misery is quick enough to take us,
If first we do not wed us to her rival!
Is it not so?
Rizzio (with passion).
Or sun has never shone!
So in! the tarantelle! (as Tasso enters) And then a song
From Messer Tasso, who would be divine,
[Greets him.
Did he love Venus as he fears the Church,
Apollo as he shuns the Inquisition!
In! – Osio, will you come?
Osio.
I will not.
Rizzio.
Then
Dance with your own mad humors and delusions
Here to Vesuvius and to the sea, —
Or to Bianca plead your pardon!
(To the rest) Come!
[Seizes blossoms blithely.
For in this world there's but one heresy,
Denial of the divinity of Joy!
[Throws sprays over Porzia, takes her hand and they go singing. All follow, but Osio and Bianca.
Osio (when their steps have died; in cold rage).
You shall hear more of this, my pretty brother!
Prater of pagan doubts!
Whom – but that God may use it – I would curse
For the resemblance that our mother gave us!
For, by the living blood of San Gennaro,
In yon Duomo, the scoffing siren song
Of heresy that swells in you shall cease,
Tho it shall take the sweat of the rack to hush it!
You shall hear more!..
Bianca (who has stood long indignant).
And others shall hear more!
[Her voice breaking as she turns on him.
Others who fix upon me this affront
Of broken and humiliate betrothals!
[As he attempts to speak.
Yes! you have made of me a thing of shame
Here in the eyes
Of those who're alien to me!
That you have loved me not – or love me less
Than once you did, too well I came to know —
I – with the blood in me of the Medici! —
And now it is open prate!.. But do you think
The women of my city want resentment,
Or less than these sun-lusting ones of Naples
Know how to cool their wrath?
Osio.
I think you mad —
In a mad maze —
And yield it no concern;
Nor shall – (meaningly) until a thing you know is done.
As to betrothals, give your memory breath:
Ours was agreed to end as either willed.
[Goes from her to gate and looks expectantly out.
Bianca (as he returns).
And you, weary of it, have utterly
Chosen to end it?
[Sits.
Osio.
Have I so affirmed?
Bianca (springing up).
I will not have evasions, Osio!
Shiftings and turnings
Radiant of hopes
That torture expectation till it breaks.
[Again sitting.
And yet – perchance it is as well they come
Now … while there yet is time for more withdrawals.
Osio (starting).
More?
Bianca.
For – I fear all trust in you is folly;
And that the heresy of Rizzio
Which I agreed with you to take unto
Monsignor Querio —
Osio (clenching).
Shall not be taken?
[She rises.
Not! but you leave the brunt to me alone?
Bianca.
You purpose more, I think, than to restrain him.
Osio.
And you more than abjuring! You would gaze
Upon his godless schisms, …
Upon the naked luring of his lies!
Bianca.
No! Tho the beauty of them —
Osio.
Beauty! beauty!
[Striking the Pan near him.
That wind of infidelity from Hell
He blows out of his lips do you call beauty!
No! – and he with his poets and philosophers,
His Platos
And star-mad Copernicas,
And that Dominican, Giordano Bruno,
For whom the stake to flames will yet be lit,
Shall learn you are too late in your relenting!
Bianca (stricken).
Too … late!
Osio.
His heresies shall reap their due.
Bianca (death-pale).
Which means – that you
already have revealed them!
Have sent unto Monsignor Querio
To-day —
Rizzio's wedding-day! —
For that
It was you sought out Matteo, who, pledged
Unto Marina,
As were you to me,
Has broke his troth?..
And now, now you await him? – O was not
Your promise to me that a week should pend
Ere any step?
Osio.
I will not lose my soul,
[Turns away.
And dallying is the feebleness of fools.
ACT II
A Year Has Elapsed
Scene: A sala, or hall, in the house of Rizzio. Its spacious walls and ceiling are frescoed with Virgilian scenes of a simpler and more beautiful kind than was usual to the decaying art of the period, and its high-arched open doors in the rear look out upon the terrace of Act I, toward the city, the Bay, Vesuvius – the whole magic curve of the haunting coast.
Several antique terminal-statues, the bodies of which end strangely in their pedestals, stand on either side these doors, and about the hall a Venus and other rare objects of virtu recovered from the past are mingled with the furnishings of the room, which, arranged for joy and beauty, seems somehow sad when unoccupied, as now, tho the Neapolitan sun is shining brightly in from the blue.
An arrased doorway right leads thro a passage to the street gate, and one left to the penetralia of the house, from which Marina enters deeply troubled. She looks back, shakes her head, saying, "O my poor lady!" then crosses to door right, listens, and hearing nothing goes slowly to door rear, where she waits, singing sadly:
Shepherds down the mountain wind,
Wild pipes play in the street.
O Sicily, my Sicily,
I long for thee, my Sweet!
Once a year God takes his joy,
And that great joy is Spring,
He weds earth clad in blossom-robes,
For His enrapturing!
[She stops, listening, then resumes:
Once a year God takes his joy,
And that —
[She stops again hearing sounds at the gate, then is startled to paleness by the voice of Matteo; and as she listens a stern strong determination takes her.
Matteo.
Basta! am I to pass! son of a dog!
Snout of a swine! knave! door-bestriding fool!
Have I not matters to her from my master,
To the Signora, from her husband's brother?
[A scuffle.
The Devil's scullion feed you
On flame, until your liver shrivels black!
[He has pushed past and enters the Hall insolently.
O-hé! who's here! I come from Signor Osio!
[Sees Marina.
The little Sicilian? Luck then is my slave!
[Going to her.
Well, pretty fig! my little red pomegranate!
My fair forbidden fruit – pluckt in the moon!
I've come … (stopped by her mien) But,
Blood of the Holy Sepulchre!
[Looks around uncertainly.
What thing has happened here?
Marina.
That, Matteo,
[Speaks solemnly.
Which yet I do not know, and which I pray
Madonna you may be as ignorant of.
Matteo.
Eh?.. I, my beauty?
Marina.
You – who left this house
A year ago to-night with Signor Osio,
Left suddenly,
To serve his wealth and pleasure,
And who will leave it now as instantly,
If he is not in need – of absolution.
Matteo.
Of … (starting) absolution?
Body, now, of Bacchus!
Does he not go to the Mass – and if he does not
Am I a priest
To know his need of purging?
Or if he sins must I be damned with him?
Marina.
No, so the way from it —
Matteo.
The way! the way!
I want no way, but in unto your mistress.
Am I not sent here to her with commands?
Ecco! and must I turn with them upon me,
And say a wench denied me?
Or that I feared
Perchance to catch the fever
Of heresy your master's shackled with?
Pah, but you jest, my ruby rose of Aetna —
[Insinuatingly.
Whom yet I will not say but I will wed,
Tho you are from that Paynim-breeding isle
Of Sicily. You jest: so, in with you.
I seek your lady.
Marina.
Seek … and shall find more.
Matteo.
More! (Struck by her tone.) And from what and whom?
Marina.
I wait Aloysius,
The leech.
Matteo.
And that is what I am to fear?
Marina.
The child is ill.
Matteo (starting).
The child!
Marina.
My lady's child.
[With tenser solemnity.
For there has come of late into her mind
A dread that has dried life within her breasts.
Matteo (who pales).
And am I God, woman, to keep dread from her?
Marina.
Tending to it a strangeness comes upon her,
And with the sudden seizure of it, fear —
Shudders of horror, instincts of some evil
That she somehow has suffered, or committed —
[Pauses.
Matteo (paler).
What do you mean!
Marina.
As one within a trance.
Matteo.
And do you mean – ?
Marina.
A mood seizes her flesh
That creeps against her will whene'er unto her
The little one is pressed.
Matteo (trembling).
This is a lie!
Marina.
She cannot look upon it, but with terror,
That brings remorse
Awakening more terror!
The blight of heresy, she strives to think
Of her lord's heresy is sent upon her,
Or of her own refusal, it may be,
To wed the Convent, not the carnal world.
Matteo.
To you she said this?
Marina.
Ah! and Madonna! her sleep!
She walks with eyes wide open.
Matteo.
I say you lie.
You do! as if Eternity were not, —
[Seizes her wrist.
To frighten me and Signor Osio!
Marina (coldly, stingingly).
And yet you understand? ha, understand?
And hoarsely stare at words upon my lips
That should be meaningless as moony madness?
You penetrate
What not the Pope himself,
Nor any could, but with a guilty knowledge?
There's villainy I say, and you are in it,
The tool of a blind villain, who should be
Where now his brother rots, but that the Church
Is no more Christ's!
Ah, ah! my nails could tear
Your hated false caresses from my flesh,
Your kisses from my memory and fling them
Upon your wicked heart. And, for your master,
The Virgin strangle him! She – or another!
[Meaningly.
Another!
Matteo (startled).
What? what say you?
Marina.
That – one – will!
For do not think such sins go unavenged.
[Starts to go.
Matteo.
I say, what do you hint! Stand! there is more!
[Seizes her and clasps her to him.
More! and I'll have it, by the crater of Hell!
More – and your lips shall tell it with a kiss.
Marina.
Off me! (Struggling.) And if you do not get from here —
[Breaks free.
Before Signora Bianca —
Matteo.
Ah! Ahi!
It has to do then with the Florentine?
Who is as pagan as that devil Venus,
[Points to statue.
Yet prates to priests as subtly as my master
Who will not play Love with her?
By the Passion and Blood of God, has she again
Gone jealous to Monsignor Querio,
To get undone the doors of the Inquisition,
So that your master …? has she?
Marina.
They are open! —
O would I who o'erheard might tell my lady! —
And Signor Rizzio goes free to-day!
Free to return here unto his own home!
Free to cast from him a year's ignorance,
A year's imprisonment beyond the pale
Of any word or message
And learn how on his wedding-day when he
Was seized and on his wedding-night when he
Expected to return… At that you quail?
Begone then, or —
Matteo (gnashing).
The jealousy of women!
Their hearts are devil-pots that ever boil. —
But this is cud for Signor Osio,
So get you in at once unto your mistress
And say —
Enter Bianca suddenly in agitation
Bianca (looking about, with alarm).
Where is my cousin? (Calls) Porzia! Porzia! —
She must return at once – unto the child:
Her mood is perilous and must be pent.
[As they stare.
Did you not see her? (Impatient.) Am I Proserpine
To make such gaping ghosts of you? I say,
Was she not here?
Marina.
Signora – ?
Bianca.
She hung, haunted,
[Searching again.
By the child's cradle – there a little since,
But suddenly rose up and fled from it,
Saying – she would wed death!
Marina.
Wed death! Signora!
Bianca.
Yes; I was near. Her words – that struck me stark.
I could not speak. Do you know aught of this,
You who have seen these dark distractions in her?
Or does this … drone of Signor Osio?
[Toward Matteo.
What brings him here?
Matteo.
Marina there.
Bianca.
Ha, yes!
[At door rear.
The honey from that flower – but what else?
[At door right.
Marina, yes, for you have been with her
Too often under the moon, but there is more
Behind you than yourself. Your master has
Not sent you?
Matteo.
Yes, Signora. To your beauty
He sends salute; and to your lady cousin
Who … O Signora, see! (staring) upon the terrace!
[He has broken off awestruck.
See, see! Oh, in her hand there is … Oh! – oh!
[They turn and behold Porzia trancedly approaching, a stiletto before her and her lips moving obliviously.
Porzia.
And should I not, Madonna, if … O should I?
Would you in heaven not assuage and shrive me?
Make the wound seem as holy as were Christ's?
Miraculously make —
Bianca.
Porzia!
Porzia.
Make – (dazed)
Bianca.
Porzia, do you dream!
Porzia (startled).
Bianca! (dropping blade) You?
[A pause.
Bianca.
This speech to weapons! this distraction. What
And whence and why is it? Your child —
Porzia (quickly).
Yes, yes!..
[A little incoherent.
I went into the garden to wait Aloysius,
My uncle Aloysius, who is a leech.
I have not slept… What is it I am saying?
[Seeing Matteo.
Is that one come to tell —
Bianca.
He is the servant —
Of Osio.
Porzia (with recoil).
Of Osio?.. Of Osio?
[Trembling.
Matteo.
Signora, yes. He sends me with a message.
He begs that he may see you.
Porzia.
See?
Matteo.
Implores
That this strange shrinking from him and aversion,
This pale … and unintelligible … repulsion
You have of late —
Porzia.
Go back to him! go, go!
[Struggling: with solemn abhorrence.
And say I cannot see him. He is my brother,
My husband's brother,
Whom I pray to honor.
And is much like my husband:
A likeness that unreasonably, it may be,
I shudder to look upon: and yet —
Matteo.
He bade me
To say, Signora, nothing must prevent;
That it concerns —
Porzia.
See him I will not, ever!
[With utter repugnance.
And cannot and should not tho he sought me in
That time which lies beyond eternity,
That space which is beyond the brink of all.
What thing it is haunting his heart I know not.
But in his presence all my flesh becomes
A shudder of horror,
All my soul a fear.
My husband's brother is he, my poor husband's,
But he… Go, go!.. and tell him that strange drawings
And strange repulsions pass the hearts of those
Whom grief has gathered upon; and that I who
Upon my wedding-day had torn from me —
[Suddenly, uncontrollably.
Say, say I would he were not on the earth!
Bianca (amazed, suspicious).
Porzia! what is this!
Porzia.
I know not: go!
[He goes, then Marina, fearful. An over-fraught pause.
Bianca (at length, jealously).
For this there is a reason – and but one.
You love, you love him!
Porzia.
Love … whom?
Bianca.
Osio!
Yet dare not so you draw him with denials,
Knowing that to repel is to entrain him.
[As Porzia stares, stupefied.
O mockery of it! fools my eyes were, fools,
That stood within my head and did not see!
To me he spoke of love – yearning for you,
And in me heard but echoes of you … ever!
Yet, since you loved him,
Why unto his brother,
A heretic o'erturning God with stars,
Did you —
Porzia (sinking to a divan).
I pray you speak things possible,
Tho to your sight I seem and to my own
