ACT I
Scene: A dim Hall, of blended Gothic and Saracenic styles, in the Lusignan Castle, on the island of Cyprus near Famagouste. Around the walls, above faint frescoes portraying the deliverance of Jerusalem by the Crusaders, runs a frieze inlaid with the coats-of-arms of former Lusignan kings. On the left, and back, is a door hung with heavy damask, and in the wall opposite, another. Farther down on the right a few steps, whose railing supports a Greek vase with jasmine, lead through a chapel to the sleeping apartments. In the rear, on either side, are guled lattice windows, and in the centre an open grated door, looking upon a loggia, and, across the garden below, over the moonlit sea. Seats are placed about, and, forward, a divan with rich Turkish coverings. A table with a lighted cross-shaped candlestick is by the door, left; and a lectern with a book on it, to the front, right. As the curtain rises, the Women, except Civa, lean wearily on the divan, and Halil near is singing dreamily,
Ah, the balm, the balm,
And ah, the blessing
Of the deep fall of night
And of confessing.
Of the sick soul made white
Of all distressing:
Made white!...
Ah, balm of night
And, ah the blessing!
The music falls and all seem yielding to sleep. Suddenly there are hoof-beats and sounds at the gates below. Halil springs up.
Halil. Alessa! Maga! Stirrings at the gates!
(All start up.)
Some one is come.
Alessa. Boy, Halil, who?
Halil. Up, up!
Perhaps Lord Renier—No: I will learn.
(He runs to curtains and looks.)
It is Olympio! Olympio!
From Famagouste and Lord Amaury!
Mauria. Ah!
And he comes here?
Halil. As he were lord of skies!
To lady Yolanda, by my lute!
Maga. Where is she?
Alessa. I do not know; perhaps, her chamber.
Mauria. Stay:
His word may be of the Saracens.
Halil (calling). Oho!
(He admits Olympio, who enters insolently down. All press around him gaily.)
Mauria. Well what, Olympio, from Famagouste?
What tidings? tell us.
Maga. See, his sword!
Olympio. Stand off.
Mauria. The tidings, then, the tidings!
Olympio. None—for women.
Mauria. So, so, my Cupid? None of the Saracens?
Of the squadron huddling yesterday for haven
At Keryneia?
Olympio. Who has told you?
Mauria. Who?
A hundred galleys westing up the wind,
Scenting the shore, but timorous as hounds.
A gale—and twenty down!
Maga. The rest are flown?
Olympio. Ask Zeus, or ask, to-morrow, lord Amaury,
Or, if he comes, to-night. To lady Yolanda
I'm sent and not to tattle silly here.
(He starts off, but is arrested by laughter within. It is Civa who enters, holding up a parchment.)
O! Only Civa. (Starts again with Halil.)
Civa. How, Olympio!
Stay you, and hear!—May never virgin love him!
Gone as a thistle! (Turns.)
Mauria. Pouf!
Alessa (to Civa). Now, what have you?
Civa. Verses! found in the garden. Verses! verses!
On papyrus of Paphos. O, to read!
But you, Alessa—!
Alessa (takes them). In the garden?
Civa. By
The fountain cypress at the marble feet
Of chaste Diana!
Maga. Where Sir Camarin
And oft our lady—!
Civa. Maga will you prattle?
Read them to us, Alessa, read them, read.
They are of love!
Maga. No, sorrow.
Civa. O, as a nun
You ever sigh for sorrow!—They are of love!
Of valour bursting through enchanted bounds
To ladies prisoned in an ogre's keep!
Then of the bridals!—O, they are of love!
Maga. No, Civa, no! of sorrow! see, her lips!
(She points to Alessa, who, reading, has paled.)
See, see!
Civa. Alessa!
Alessa. Maga—Civa—Ah!
(She rends the parchment.)
Mauria. What are you doing?
Alessa. They were writ to her!
Mauria. To her? to whom? what are you saying? Read!
Read us the verses.
Mauria. Tell then his name
Who writes them, and to whom.
Alessa. I will not.
Mauria. Then
It is some guilt you hide!—And touching her
You dote on—lady Yolanda!
Alessa. Shame!
Mauria. Some guilt
Of one, then, in this castle!—See, her lips
Betray it is.
Maga. No, Mauria! no! (holds her) hush!
(Forms appear without.)
Mauria. O, loose me.
Maga. There, on the loggia! Hush, see—
Our lady and Sir Camarin.
Alessa (fearful). It is....
They heard us, Maga?
Maga. No, but——
Mauria (to Alessa). So? that mouse?
Alessa. You know not, Mauria, what 'tis you say.
(Berengere coldly, as if consenting to it, enters.)
She is seeking us; be still.
(Stepping out.) My lady?
Berengere. Yes.
Your lamps; for it is time
Now for your aves and o'erneeded sleep.
But first I'd know if yet Lord Renier——
(Sees their disquiet—starts.)
Alessa. I?
Berengere. So—and strange.
Alessa. We have
But put away the distaff and the needle.
(Camarin enters.)
Berengere. The distaff and the needle—it may be.
And yet you do not seem——
Alessa. My lady—?
Berengere. Go;
And send me Hassan.
(The women leave.)
Camarin—you saw?
They were not as their wont is.
Camarin. To your eyes,
My Berengere, that apprehension haunts.
They were as ever. Then be done with fear!
Berengere. I cannot.
Camarin. To the abyss with it. To-night
Is ours—Renier tarries at Famagouste—
Is ours for love and for a long delight!
Berengere. Whose end may be—
Camarin. Dawn and the dewy lark!
And passing of all presage from you.
Berengere (sits). No:
For think, Yolanda's look when by the cypress
We read the verses! And my dream that I
Should with a cross—inscrutable is sleep!—
Bring her deep bitterness.
Camarin. Dreams are a brood
Born of the night and not of destiny.
She guesses not our guilt, and Renier
Clasps to his breast ambition as a bride—
Ambition for Amaury.
Berengere. None can say.
He's much with this Venetian, our guest.
Though Venice gyves us more with tyranny
Than would the Saracen.
Camarin. But through this lady
Of the Pisani, powerful in Venice,
He hopes to lift again his dynasty
Up from decay; and to restore this island,
This venture-dream of the seas, unto his house.
'Tis clear, my Berengere!
Berengere. Then, her design?
And what the requital that entices her?
(Rises.)
Evil will come of it, to us some evil,
Or to Yolanda and Amaury's love.
But, there; the women.
Camarin. And too brief their stay.
What signal for to-night?
Berengere. Be in the garden.
Over the threshold yonder I will wave
The candle-sign, when all are passed to sleep.
Camarin. And with the beam I shall mount up to you
Quicker than ecstasy.
Berengere. I am as a leaf
Before the wind and raging of your love.
Go—go.
Camarin. But to return unto your breast!
(He leaves her by the divan.)
(The women re-enter with silver lighted lamps; behind them are Hassan and the slave Smarda. They wait for Berengere, who has stood silent, to speak.)
Berengere (looking up). Ah, you are come; I had forgotten.
And it is time for sleep.—Hassan, the gates:
Close them.
Hassan. And chain them, lady?
Berengere. Wait no longer.
Lord Renier will not come.
Hassan. No word of him?
Berengere. None, though he yesterday left Nicosie
With the priest Moro.
Hassan. Lady—
Berengere. Wait no longer.
Come, women, with your lamps and light the way.
(The women go by the steps. Berengere follows.)
Hassan (staring after her). The reason of this mood in her? The reason?
Something is vile. Lady Yolanda weeps
In secret; all for what?—unless because
Of the Paphian—or this Venetian.
(Seeing Smarda.) Now,
Slave! Scythian! You linger?
Smarda. I am bidden—
My mistress.
Hassan. Spa! Thy mistress hath, I think,
Something of hell in her and has unpacked
A portion in this castle. Is it so?
Smarda. My lady is of Venice.
Hassan. Strike her, God.
Her smirk admits it.
Smarda. Touch me not!
Hassan. I'll wring
Thy tongue out sudden, if it now has lies.
What of thy lady and Lord Renier?
Smarda. Off!
(Renier enters behind, with Moro.)
Hassan. Thy lady and Lord Renier, I say!
What do they purpose?
Smarda. Fool-born! look around.
Hassan. Not till——
Smarda. Lord Renier, help.
Hassan. What do you say?
(Turns, and stares amazed.)
A fool I am....
Renier. Where is my wife?
Hassan. Why, she....
This slave stung me to pry.
Renier. Where is my wife?
Hassan. A moment since, was here—the women with her.
She asked for your return.
Renier. And wherefore did?
Hassan. You jeer me.
Renier. Answer.
Hassan. Have you not been gone?
Renier. Not—overfar. Where is Yolanda?—Well?
No matter; find my chamber till I come.
Of my arrival, too, no word to any.
(Hassan goes, confused.)
You, Moro, have deferred me; now, no more.
Whether it is suspicion eats in me,
Mistrust and fret and doubt—of whom I say not,
Or whether desire and unsubduable
To see Amaury sceptred—I care not.
(To Smarda.)
Slave, to your lady who awaits me, say
I'm here and now have chosen.
Moro. Do not!
Renier. Chosen.
(Smarda goes.)
None can be great who will not hush his heart
To hold a sceptre, and Amaury must.
He is Lusignan and his lineage
Will drown in him Yolanda's loveliness.
Moro. It will not.
Renier. Then at least I shall uncover
What this Venetian hints.
Moro. Hints?
Renier. I must know.
Moro. 'Tis of your wife?—Yolanda?
Renier. Name them not.
They've shut from me their souls.
Moro. My lord, not so;
But you repulse them.
Renier. When they pity. No,
Something has gone from me or never was
Within my breast. I love not—am unlovable.
Amaury is not so,
And this Venetian Vittia Pisani——
Moro. Distrust her!
Renier. She has power.
Moro. But not truth.
And yesterday a holy relic scorned.
Renier. She loves Amaury. Wed to her he will
Be the elected Governor of Cyprus.
The throne, then, but a step.
Moro. But all too great.
And think; Yolanda is to him as heaven:
He will not yield her.
Renier. Then he must. And she,
The Venetian, has ways to it—a secret
To pierce her from his arms.
Moro. Sir, sir?—of what?
Renier. I know not, of some shame.
Moro. Shame!
Renier. Why do you clutch me?
Moro. I—am a priest—and shame——
Renier. You have suspicion?
(Vittia enters unnoted.)
Of whom?—Of whom, and what?
Vittia (lightly). My lord, of women.
(Renier starts and turns.)
So does the Holy Church instill him.
Renier. You
Come softly, lady of Venice.
Vittia. Streets of sea
In Venice teach us.
Renier. Of what women, then?
My wife? Yolanda?
Vittia. By the freedom due us,
What matters it? In Venice our lords know
That beauty has no master.
Renier. Has no.... That,
That too has something hid.
Vittia. Suspicious lord!
Yet Berengere Lusignan is his wife!
And soon Yolanda—But for that I'm here.
You sent for me.
Renier (sullen). I sent.
Vittia. To say you've chosen?
And offer me irrevocable aid
To win Amaury?
Renier. All is vain in me
Before the fever for it.
Vittia. Then, I shall.
It must be done. My want is unafraid.
Hourly I am expecting out of Venice
Letters of power.
And what to you I pledge is he shall be
Ruler of Cyprus and these Mediterranean
Blue seas that rock ever against its coast.
That do I pledge ... but more.
Renier. Of rule?... Then what?
Vittia (going up to him). Of shame withheld—dishonour unrevealed.
(He half recoils and stands. Smarda enters hastily to them.)
Smarda. My lady—
Vittia. Speak.
Smarda. She!
Vittia. Who? Yolanda? comes?
She's not asleep as you averred to me,
Was not asleep, but comes?... My lord—!
Renier. I'll stay,
Stay and confront her.
Vittia. Ignorantly? No.
Renier. I'll question her.
Vittia. Blindly, and peril all?
Renier. I will return. You put me off, and off.
(By the loggia, with Moro, he goes; the slave slips out. Yolanda enters, sadly her gaze on the floor. She walks slowly, but becoming conscious starts, sees Vittia, and turns to withdraw.)
Vittia. Your pardon—
Yolanda. I can serve you?
Vittia. If you seek
The women, they are gone.
Yolanda. I do not seek them.
Vittia. Nor me?
Yolanda. Nor any.—Yet I would I might
With seeking penetrate the labyrinth
Of your intent.
Vittia. I thank you. And you shall,
To-night—if you have love.
Yolanda. That thread were vain.
Vittia. I say, if you have love.
Yolanda. Of guile?
Vittia. Of her
You hold as mother, and who is Amaury's.
Yolanda. Were it so simple, no design had ever
Laired darkly in you, but to my eyes been clear
As shallows under Morpha's crystal wave.
Vittia. Unproven you speak so.
Yolanda. And proven would.
Vittia. If so, then—save her.
Yolanda. Who? What do you—?
Vittia (with irony). Mean?
It is not clear?
Yolanda. Save her?
Vittia. The surety flies
Out of your cheek and dead upon your heart:
Yet you are innocent—oh innocent?—
O'er what abyss she hangs!
Yolanda. O'er no abyss.
Vittia. But to her lord is constant!
Yolanda (desperate). She is constant.
Vittia. And to his bed is true?
Yolanda. True.
Vittia. And this baron
Of Paphos—Camarin—is but her friend,
And deeply yours—as oft you feign to shield her?
Yolanda. He is no more.
Vittia. Your heart belies your lips,
Knows better than believing what you say.
Yolanda. Were, were he then ... (struggles) Lord Renier knows it not!
And never must. I have misled his thought
From her to me. The danger thus may pass,
The open shame.
Sir Camarin departed, her release
From the remorse and fettering will seem
Sweet as a vista into fairyland.
For none e'er will betray her.
Vittia. None?
Yolanda. Your tone...!
(Realising with gradual horror.) The still insinuation! You would do it!
This is the beast then of the labyrinth?
And this your heart is?
Vittia. No, not ever: no.
But now, if you deny me.
Yolanda. Speak as a woman,
If there is Womanhood in you to speak.
The name of Berengere Lusignan must
Go clean unto the years, fair and unsullied.
Nor must the bloody leap
Of death fall on her from Lord Renier's sword,
A death too ready if he but suspect.
No, she is holy!
And holy are my lips
Remembering that they may call her mother!
All the bright world I breathe because of her,
Laughter and roses, day-song of the sea,
Not bitterness and loneliness and blight!
All the bright world,
Of voices, dear as waking to the dead—
Voices of love and tender earthly hopes—
O, all the beauty I was once forbid!
Yes, yes!—
She lifted me, a lonely convent weed,
A cloister thing unvisited of dew,
Withering and untended and afar
From the remembered ruin of my home,
And here has planted me in happiness.
Then, for her, all I am!
Vittia. Or—hope to be?
Yolanda. The price, say, of your silence.—I am weary.
Vittia. And would be rid of me.
Yolanda. The price, the price.
Vittia. It is (low and ashamed) that you renounce Amaury's love.
(A pause.)
Yolanda. Amaury's love.... You then would rend me there
Where not Eternity could heal the wound
Though all the River of God might be for balm!
Cruelty like to this you could not do?
(Waits a moment.)
A swallow on the battlements to-day
Fell from the hawk: you soothed and set it free.
This, then, you would not—!
Vittia. Yes.
Yolanda. You cannot!
Vittia. Yes.
Yolanda (wrung for a moment then calm).
I had forgotten, you are of Venice—Venice
Whose burdening is vast upon this land.
Good-night.
Vittia. And you despise me!
Yolanda. More am sick
That love of him has led your thought so low.
To-morrow—
Vittia. Not to-morrow! But you must
Choose and at once.
Yolanda. Then——
(They start and listen. Approaching hoofs are heard.)
Vittia. Ah! Amaury?—It is?
His speed upon the road? now at the gates?
(The fall of chains is heard.)
What then, what is your purpose—to renounce
And force him from you, or to have me breathe
To Renier Lusignan the one word
That will transmute his wrong to madness?
Say quickly. Centuries have stained these walls,
But never a wife; never——
(Enter Berengere.)
Yolanda. Mother?...
Berengere. Amaury
Has spurred to us, Yolanda, from his post,
Secret and sudden. But ... what has befallen?
(Looks from one to the other.)
Yolanda. He comes here, mother?
Berengere. At once.
Yolanda. No!
Vittia (coldly, to Yolanda). Then to-night
Must be the end.
Yolanda. Go, go.
Berengere (as Vittia passes out). What thing is this?
Yolanda. Mother, I cannot have him—here—Amaury!
Defer him but a little—till to-morrow.
I cannot see him now.
Berengere. This is o'erstrange.
Yolanda. Help me to think. Go to him, go, and say
Some woman thing—that I am ill—that I
Am at confession—penance—that—Ah, say
But anything!
Berengere. Yolanda!
Yolanda. Say.... No use.
Too late.
Berengere. His step?
Yolanda. Oh, unmistakable;
Along the corridor. There!
(The curtains are thrown back.)
Amaury (at the threshold.) My Yolanda!
(Hastens down and takes her, passive, into his arms. Berengere goes.)
My, my Yolanda!
To touch you is as triumph to the blood,
Is as the boon of battle to the strong!
Yolanda. Amaury, no; release me and say why
You come: The Saracens——?
Amaury. Not of them now!
(Bends back her head.)
But of some tribute incense to this beauty!
Dear as the wind wafts from undying shrines
Of mystery and myrrh!
I'd have the eloquence of quickened moons
Pouring upon the midnight magical,
To say all I have yearned,
Now, with your head pillowed upon my breast!
Slow sullen speech come to my soldier lips,
Rough with command, and impotent of softness?
Come to my lips! or fill so full my eyes
That the unutterable, shall seem as sweet
To my Yolanda. (Lifting her face, with surprise.)
But how now? tears?
Yolanda. Amaury——
Amaury. What have I done? Too pitiless have pressed
You to this coat of steel?
Yolanda. No, no.
Amaury. My words,
Or silence, then?
Yolanda. Amaury, no, but sweet,
Sweet as the roses of Damascus crusht,
Your silence is! and sweeter than the dream
Of April nightingale on Troados,
Or gushing by the springs of Chitria,
Your every word of love! Yet—yet—ah, fold me,
Within your arms oblivion and hold me,
Fast to your being press me, and there bless me
With breathèd power of your manhood's might.
Amaury!...
Amaury. This I cannot understand.
Yolanda (freeing herself). Nothing—a folly—groundless frailty.
Amaury. You've been again at some old tale of sorrow,
(Goes to the lectern.)
Pining along the pages of a book—
This, telling of that Italy madonna
Whose days were sad—I have forgotten how.
Is it not so?
Yolanda. No, no. The tears of women
Come as the air and sighing of the night,
We know not whence or why.
Amaury. Often, perhaps.
I am not skilled to tell. But these—not these!
They are of trouble known.
Yolanda. Yet now forget them.
Amaury. It will not leave my heart that somehow—how
I cannot fathom—Camarin——
Yolanda (lightly, to stop him). No farther!
Amaury. That Camarin of Paphos is their cause.
Tell me——
Yolanda. Yes, that I love thee!
Amaury. Tell me——
Yolanda. Love thee!
As sea the sky! and as the sky the wind!
And as the wind the forest! As the forest—
What does the forest love, Amaury? I
Can think of nothing!
Amaury. Tell me then you have
Never a moment of you yielded to him,
That never he has touched too long this hand—
Till evermore he must, even as I—
Nor once into your eyes too deep has gazed!
You falter? darken?
Yolanda. Would he ne'er had come
Into these halls! that it were beautiful,
Holy to hate him as the Lost can hate.
Amaury. But 'tis not?
Yolanda. God shall judge him.
Amaury. And not you?
Yolanda. Though he is weak, there is within him—
Amaury. That
Which women trust? and you?
(Berengere enters. He turns to her.)
Mother?
Berengere. A runner,
A soldier of your troop within the forts
Has come with word.
Amaury (starting). Mother!
Berengere. It is ill news?
I've seen that battle-light in you before.
'Tis of the Saracens? you ride to-night
Into their peril?
Amaury. Come, the word, the word!
Berengere. Only this token.
Amaury. The spur? the spur? (Takes it.) They then
Are landing!
Yolanda. How, Amaury; tell your meaning!
Amaury. The galleys of the Saracens have found
Anchor and land to-night near Keryneia.
My troops are ready and await me—
So, no delay.
Yolanda. I pray you (strangely, with terror) do not go.
Amaury. Yolanda!
Yolanda. If I am left alone—!
Amaury. Yolanda!
Yolanda (sinking to a seat). I meant it not—a breath of fear—no more.
Go, go.
Amaury. I know you not to-night. Farewell.
(He kisses her and hurries off.... A silence.)
Berengere. Yolanda——
Yolanda. Mother, I will go to sleep.
(She rises.)
Berengere. A change is over you—a difference
Drawn as a veil between us.
Yolanda. I am weary.
Berengere. You love me?
Yolanda. As, O mother, I love him,
With love impregnable to every ill,
As Paradise is.
Berengere. Then—
Yolanda. I pray, no more.
To-night I am flooded with a deeper tide
Than yet has flowed into my life—and through it
Sounds premonition: so I must have calm.
(She embraces Berengere; goes slowly up steps and off.)
Berengere (chilled). What fear—if it is fear—has so unfixed her?
It is suspicion—Then I must not meet
Him here to-night—or if to-night, no more.
Her premonition!—and my dream that I
Should with a cross bring her deep bitterness.
(Thinks a moment, then takes the crucifix from her neck.)
Had Renier but come, perhaps I might ...
(Lays it on table.)
O were I dead this sinning would awake me?...
And yet I care not (dully.) ... No, I will forget.
(Goes firmly from door to door and looks out each. Then lifts, uniting, the cross-shaped candlestick; and waving it at the loggia, turns holding it before her.)
Soon he will come up from the cool, and touch
Away my weakness with mad tenderness.
Soon he will ... Ah!
(Has seen with terror the candlestick's structure.)
The cross!... My dream!... Yolanda!
(Lets it fall.)
Mercy of God, move in me!... Sacrilege!
(Sinks feebly to the divan, and bows, overcome.)
Camarin (appearing after a pause an the loggia).
My Berengere, a moment, and I come!
(Enters, locking the grating behind him, Then he hurries down and leans to lift her face.)
Berengere. No, no! nor ever, ever again, for ever!
(Shrinks.)
Go from me and behind leave no farewell....
Camarin. This is—illusion. In the dew I've waited,
And the night's song of you is in my brain—
A song that seems——
Berengere. Withhold from words. At last
Fate is begun! See, with the cross it was
I waved you hither. Leave me—let me pass
Out of this sin—and to repentance—after.
Camarin. I cannot, cannot!
Berengere. Pity, then, my fear.
This moment were it known would end with murder,
Or did it not, dishonour still would kill!
Leave, leave.
Camarin. To-morrow, then; but not to-night!
(He goes behind and puts his arms around her.)
Give me thy being once again, thy beauty.
For it I'm mad as bacchanals for wine.
(Yolanda, entering an the balcony, hears, and would retreat, but sees Renier come to the grating.)
Once more be to me all that woman may!
Let us again take rapture wings and rise
Up to our world of love, guilt would unsphere.
Let us live over days that passed as streams
Limpid by lotus-banks unto the sea,
O'er all the whispered nights that we have clasped
Knowing the heights and all the deeps of passion!
But speak, and we shall be amid the stars.
(Renier draws a dagger and leaves the grating. With a low cry Yolanda staggers down: the Two rise, fearful.)
Berengere. Yolanda!
Yolanda. Mother, mother!... Ah, his eyes!
Berengere. What brings you here—to spy upon me?
Yolanda. Listen!...
Think not of me—no, hush—but of the peril
Arisen up.... Your husband!
Camarin. Renier?
Yolanda. Was at that grating—heard. And from its sheath,
A dagger—! Ah, he will come.
Berengere (weakly). What does she say?
Yolanda. Find calmness now, and some expedient.
(She struggles to think.)
Berengere. I cannot die.
Yolanda. No, no.
Berengere. My flesh is weak,
Is poor of courage—poverished by guilt,
As all my soul is! But, Yolanda, you—!
Yolanda. Yes, something must be done—something be done.
(Camarin goes to the curtains and returns.)
Berengere. The shame ... the shame ... the shame!
Yolanda. There yet is time.
Berengere. You can deliver! you are innocent.
Yolanda. Perhaps. Let me but think.—He came——
Berengere. You see?
There is escape? a way from it?
Yolanda. Perhaps.
He came after your words ... yes ... could not see
Here in the dimness ... but has only heard
Sir Camarin?
Berengere. I do not know!
Yolanda. Go, go,
Up to your chamber and be as asleep.
There is a way—I think—dim, but a way.
Go to your chamber; for there yet may be
Prevention!
Berengere. I—yes, yes.
Yolanda. There is a way.
(Berengere goes.)
Strength now to walk it! strength unfaltering.
Camarin. What do you purpose?
Yolanda. Here to take her place,
Here at the lowest of her destiny.
Camarin. I do not understand.
Yolanda. But wholly shall.
Clasp me within your arms; he must believe
'Tis I and not his wife you have unhallowed,
Your arms about me, though they burn! and breathe me
Thirst of unbounded love as unto her.
(He clasps her, and they wait.)
Ah, it is he!
Camarin. No.
Yolanda. Yes, the words; at once!
Camarin (hoarsely). With all my body and soul-breath I love you,
(Renier enters with Moro.)
And all this night is ours for ecstasy.
Kiss me with quenchless kisses, and embrace
Me with your beauty, till——
(Yolanda with a cry, as of fear, loses herself, pretending to discover Renier, who is struck rigid.)
Moro. My lord, my lord!...
It is Yolanda.
Renier. Then—
(The dagger falls from him.)
Why, then—Amaury!
(Yolanda, realising, stunned, sinks back to the divan.)