MARCOMIR.
They mocked at her:
“If the Monk-King should ask now for his wife,
And we presented him the prostitute,
Would he not feel the ribaldry!” She stood
Quite silent, and the ashen lines turned black
On cheek and forehead; and they mocked her more:
“The harlot and the monk!” Then suddenly
A young, wild, girlish glory crossed her face,
She grasped me by the hand—but how we went
Through the hot streets I know not.
On the bridge
She turned to me—“Tell Carloman his wife
Is dead”—and looking down, I saw her stretched
Across the buoyant waters: from my sight
Sucked under by the current ’neath the bridge,
She did not rise.
CARLOMAN.
[triumphantly] And Marcomir, they promise
To cast my body to the river there,
And let it sweep along.
MARCOMIR.
But I shall sing
Of life and youth, virginity and love.
You leave me in the world; O Carloman,
You leave me here delivered.
CARLOMAN.
We shall meet;
And yet such life wells up in me I fear
Lest I should not be dying. Geneviva!
[turning to Marcomir]
And you will sing to me?
[He lies back, wrapt in ecstasy.]