CHAPTER XXI
THE THIRD ACT
The libretto of the Third Act was steeped in the sentiment of YoungItaly. I wish that I could pipe to your mind's hearing any notion of thefine music of Rocco Ricci, and touch you to feel the revelations whichwere in this new voice. Rocco and Vittoria gave the verses a life thatcannot belong to them now; yet, as they contain much of the vital spiritof the revolt, they may assist you to some idea of the faith animatingits heads, and may serve to justify this history.
Rocco's music in the opera of Camilla had been sprung from a freshItalian well; neither the elegiac-melodious, nor the sensuous-lyrical,nor the joyous buffo; it was severe as an old masterpiece, with veinsof buoyant liveliness threading it, and with sufficient distinctness ofmelody to enrapture those who like to suck the sugarplums of sound.He would indeed have favoured the public with more sweet things, butVittoria, for whom the opera was composed, and who had been at hiselbow, was young, and stern in her devotion to an ideal of classicalmusic that should elevate and never stoop to seduce or to flatterthoughtless hearers. Her taste had directed as her voice had inspiredthe opera. Her voice belonged to the order of the simply great voices,and was a royal voice among them. Pure without attenuation, passionatewithout contortion, when once heard it exacted absolute confidence.On this night her theme and her impersonation were adventitiousintroductions, but there were passages when her artistic pre-eminenceand the sovereign fulness and fire of her singing struck a note ofgrateful remembered delight. This is what the great voice does for us.It rarely astonishes our ears. It illumines our souls, as you seethe lightning make the unintelligible craving darkness leap into longmountain ridges, and twisting vales, and spires of cities, and innerrecesses of light within light, rose-like, toward a central core ofviolet heat.
At the rising of the curtain the knights of the plains, Rudolfo,Romualdo, Arnoldo, and others, who were conspiring to overthrow CountOrso at the time when Camillo's folly ruined all, assemble to deploreCamilla's banishment, and show, bereft of her, their helplessnessand indecision. They utter contempt of Camillo, who is this day to bePontifically divorced from his wife to espouse the detested Michiella.His taste is not admired.
They pass off. Camillo appears. He is, as he knows, little better thana pensioner in Count Orso's household. He holds his lands on sufferance.His faculties are paralyzed. He is on the first smooth shoulder-slopeof the cataract. He knows that not only was his jealousy of his wifegroundless, but it was forced by a spleenful pride. What is there todo? Nothing, save resignedly to prepare for his divorce from theconspiratrix Camilla and espousals with Michiella. The cup is bitter,and his song is mournful. He does the rarest thing a man will do in sucha predicament--he acknowledges that he is going to get his deserts. Thefaithfulness and purity of Camilla have struck his inner consciousness.He knows not where she may be. He has secretly sent messengers in alldirections to seek her, and recover her, and obtain her pardon: in vain.It is as well, perhaps, that he should never see her more. Accursed, hehas cast off his sweetest friend. The craven heart could never beat inunison with hers.
'She is in the darkness: I am in the light. I am a blot upon the light;she is light in the darkness.'
Montini poured this out with so fine a sentiment that the impatienceof the house for sight of its heroine was quieted. But Irma and Lebrunocame forward barely under tolerance.
'We might as well be thumping a tambourine,' said Lebruno, during acaress. Irma bit her underlip with mortification. Their notes fell flatas bullets against a wall.
This circumstance aroused the ire of Antonio-Pericles against thelibretto and revolutionists. 'I perceive,' he said, grinning savagely,'it has come to be a concert, not an opera; it is a musical harangue inthe marketplace. Illusion goes: it is politics here!'
Carlo Ammiani was sitting with his mother and Luciano breathlesslyawaiting the entrance of Vittoria. The inner box-door was rudely shaken:beneath it a slip of paper had been thrust. He read a warning to himto quit the house instantly. Luciano and his mother both counselled hisdeparture. The detestable initials 'B. R.,' and the one word 'Sbirri,'revealed who had warned, and what was the danger. His friend's adviceand the commands of his mother failed to move him. 'When I have seen hersafe; not before,' he said.
Countess Ammiani addressed Luciano: 'This is a young man's love for awoman.'
'The woman is worth it,' Luciano replied.
'No woman is worth the sacrifice of a mother and of a relative.'
'Dearest countess,' said Luciano, 'look at the pit; it's a cauldron.We shall get him out presently, have no fear: there will soon be hubbubenough to let Lucifer escape unseen. If nothing is done to-night, heand I will be off to the Lago di Garda to-morrow morning, and fish andshoot, and talk with Catullus.'
The countess gazed on her son with sorrowful sternness. His eyes hadtaken that bright glazed look which is an indication of frozen brain andturbulent heart--madness that sane men enamoured can be struck by. Sheknew there was no appeal to it.
A very dull continuous sound, like that of an angry swarm, or more likea rapid mufed thrumming of wires, was heard. The audience had caughtview of a brown-coated soldier at one of the wings. The curious Croathad merely gratified a desire to have a glance at the semicircle ofcrowded heads; he withdrew his own, but not before he had awakened thewild beast in the throng. Yet a little while and the roar of the beastswould have burst out. It was thought that Vittoria had been seizedor interdicted from appearing. Conspirators--the knights of theplains--meet: Rudolfos, Romualdos, Arnoldos, and others,--so that youknow Camilla is not idle. She comes on in the great scene which closesthe opera.
It is the banqueting hall of the castle. The Pontifical divorce isspread upon the table. Courtly friends, guards, and a choric bridalcompany, form a circle.
'I have obtained it,' says Count Orso: 'but at a cost.'
Leonardo, wavering eternally, lets us know that it is weighted with aproviso: IF Camilla shall not present herself within a certain term,this being the last day of it. Camillo comes forward. Too late, he hasperceived his faults and weakness. He has cast his beloved from his armsto clasp them on despair. The choric bridal company gives interveningstrophes. Cavaliers enter. 'Look at them well,' says Leonardo. Theyare the knights of the plains. 'They have come to mock me,' Camilloexclaims, and avoids them.
Leonardo, Michiella, and Camillo now sing a trio that is tricuspidato,or a three-pointed manner of declaring their divergent sentiments inharmony. The fast-gathering cavaliers lend masculine character tothe choric refrains at every interval. Leonardo plucks Michiellaentreatingly by the arm. She spurns him. He has served her; she needshim no more; but she will recommend him in other quarters, and bidshim to seek them. 'I will give thee a collar for thy neck, marked"Faithful." It is the utmost I can do for thy species.' Leonardo thinksthat he is insulted, but there is a vestige of doubt in him still. 'Sheis so fair! she dissembles so magnificently ever!' She has previouslytold him that she is acting a part, as Camilla did. Irma had shed allher hair from a golden circlet about her temples, barbarian-wise. SomeHunnish grandeur pertained to her appearance, and partly excused theinfatuated wretch who shivered at her disdain and exulted over herbeauty and artfulness.
In the midst of the chorus there is one veiled figure and one voicedistinguishable. This voice outlives the rest at every strophe, andcontrives to add a supplemental antiphonic phrase that recalls in turnthe favourite melodies of the opera. Camillo hears it, but takes it asa delusion of impassioned memory and a mere theme for the recurringmelodious utterance of his regrets. Michiella hears it. She chimes withthe third notes of Camillo's solo to inform us of her suspicions thatthey have a serpent among them. Leonardo hears it. The trio is formed.Count Orso, without hearing it, makes a quatuor by inviting the bridalcouple to go through the necessary formalities. The chorus changes itsmeasure to one of hymeneals. The unknown voice closes it ominously withthree bars in the minor key. Michiella stalks close around the ranksingers like an enraged daughter of Attila. Sto
pping in front of theveiled figure, she says: 'Why is it thou wearest the black veil at mynuptials?'
'Because my time of mourning is not yet ended.'
'Thou standest the shadow in my happiness.'
'The bright sun will have its shadow.'
'I desire that all rejoice this day.'
'My hour of rejoicing approaches.'
'Wilt thou unveil?'
'Dost thou ask to look the storm in the face?'
'Wilt thou unveil?'
'Art thou hungry for the lightning?'
'I bid thee unveil, woman!'
Michiella's ringing shriek of command produces no response.
'It is she!' cries Michiella, from a contracted bosom; smiting it withclenched hands.
'Swift to the signatures. O rival! what bitterness hast thou come hitherto taste.'
Camilla sings aside: 'If yet my husband loves me and is true.'
Count Orso exclaims: 'Let trumpets sound for the commencement of thefestivities. The lord of his country may slumber while his people danceand drink!'
Trumpets flourish. Witnesses are called about the table. Camillo, penin hand, prepares for the supreme act. Leonardo at one wing watchesthe eagerness of Michiella. The chorus chants to a muted measure ofsuspense, while Camillo dips pen in ink.
'She is away from me: she scorns me: she is lost to me. Life withouthonour is the life of swine. Union without love is the yoke of savagebeasts. O me miserable! Can the heavens themselves plumb the depth of mydegradation?'
Count Orso permits a half-tone of paternal severity to point his kindlyhint that time is passing. When he was young, he says, in the broadand benevolently frisky manner, he would have signed ere the eye of themaiden twinkled her affirmative, or the goose had shed its quill.
Camillo still trifles. Then he dashes the pen to earth.
'Never! I have but one wife. Our marriage is irrevocable. Thedishonoured man is the everlasting outcast. What are earthly possessionsto me, if within myself shame faces me? Let all go. Though I have lostCamilla, I will be worthy of her. Not a pen no pen; it is the sword thatI must write with. Strike, O count! I am here: I stand alone. By theedge of this sword, I swear that never deed of mine shall rob Camilla ofher heritage; though I die the death, she shall not weep for a craven!'
The multitude break away from Camilla--veiled no more, but radiant;fresh as a star that issues through corrupting vapours, and with hervoice at a starry pitch in its clear ascendency:
'Tear up the insufferable scroll!-- O thou, my lover and my soul! It is the Sword that reunites; The Pen that our perdition writes.'
She is folded in her husband's arms.
Michiella fronts them, horrid of aspect:--
'Accurst divorced one! dost thou dare To lie in shameless fondness there? Abandoned! on thy lying brow Thy name shall be imprinted now.'
Camilla parts from her husband's embrace:
'My name is one I do not fear; 'Tis one that thou wouldst shrink to hear. Go, cool thy penitential fires, Thou creature, foul with base desires!'
CAMILLO (facing Count Orso).
'The choice is thine!'
COUNT ORSO (draws).
'The choice is made!'
CHORUS (narrowing its circle).
'Familiar is that naked blade. Of others, of himself, the fate How swift 'tis Provocation's mate!'
MICHIELLA (torn with jealous rage).
'Yea; I could smite her on the face. Father, first read the thing's disgrace. I grudge them, honourable death. Put poison in their latest breath!'
ORSO (his left arm extended).
'You twain are sundered: hear with awe The judgement of the Source of Law.'
CAMILLA (smiling confidently).
'Not such, when I was at the Source, It said to me;--but take thy course.'
ORSO (astounded).
'Thither thy steps were bent?'
MICHIELLA (spurning verbal controversy).
'She feigns! A thousand swords are in my veins. Friends! soldiers I strike them down, the pair!'
CAMILLO (on guard, clasping his wife).
''Tis well! I cry, to all we share. Yea, life or death, 'tis well! 'tis well!'
MICHIELLA (stamps her foot).
'My heart 's a vessel tossed on hell!'
LEONARDO (aside).
'Not in glad nuptials ends the day.'
ORSO (to Camilla).
'What is thy purpose with us?--say!'
CAMILLA (lowly). 'Unto my Father I have crossed For tidings of my Mother lost.'
ORSO. 'Thy mother dead!'
CAMILLA. 'She lives!'
MICHIELLA. 'Thou liest! The tablets of the tomb defiest! The Fates denounce, the Furies chase The wretch who lies in Reason's face.'
CAMILLA. 'Fly, then; for we are match'd to try Which is the idiot, thou or I'
MICHIELLA. Graceless Camilla!'
ORSO 'Senseless girl! I cherished thee a precious pearl, And almost owned thee child of mine.'
CAMILLA. 'Thou kept'st me like a gem, to shine, Careless that I of blood am made; No longer be the end delay'd. 'Tis time to prove I have a heart-- Forth from these walls of mine depart! The ghosts within them are disturb'd Go forth, and let thy wrath be curb'd, For I am strong: Camillo's truth Has arm'd the visions of our youth. Our union by the Head Supreme Is blest: our severance was the dream. We who have drunk of blood and tears, Knew nothing of a mortal's fears. Life is as Death until the strife In our just cause makes Death as Life.'
ORSO ''Tis madness?'
LEONARDO. 'Is it madness?'
CAMILLA. 'Men! 'Tis Reason, but beyond your ken. There lives a light that none can view Whose thoughts are brutish:--seen by few, The few have therefore light divine Their visions are God's legions!--sign, I give you; for we stand alone, And you are frozen to the bone. Your palsied hands refuse their swords. A sharper edge is in my words, A deadlier wound is in my cry. Yea, tho' you slay us, do we die? In forcing us to bear the worst, You made of us Immortals first. Away! and trouble not my sight.'
Chorus of Cavaliers: RUDOLFO, ROMUALDO, ARNOLDO, and others.
'She moves us with an angel's might. What if his host outnumber ours! 'Tis heaven that gives victorious powers.'
[They draw their steel. ORSO, simulating gratitude for their devotion to him, addresses them as to pacify their friendly ardour.]
MICHIELLA to LEONARDO (supplicating). 'Ever my friend I shall I appeal In vain to see thy flashing steel?'
LEONARDO (finally resolved). 'Traitress! pray, rather, it may rest, Or its first home will be thy breast.'
Chorus of Bridal Company. 'The flowers from bright Aurora's head We pluck'd to strew a happy bed, Shall they be dipp'd in blood ere night? Woe to the nuptials! woe the sight!'
Rudolfo, Romualdo, Arnoldo, and the others, advance toward Camillo.Michiella calls to them encouragingly that it were well for the deed tobe done by their hands. They bid Camillo to direct their lifted swordsupon his enemies. Leonardo joins them. Count Orso, after a burst ofupbraidings, accepts Camillo's offer of peace, and gives his bond toquit the castle. Michiella, gazing savagely at Camilla, entreats her foran utterance of her triumphant scorn. She ass
ures Camilla that she knowsher feelings accurately.
'Now you think that I am overwhelmed; that I shall have a restlessnight, and lie, after all my crying's over, with my hair spread outon my pillow, on either side my face, like green moss of a witheredwaterfall: you think you will bestow a little serpent of a gift frommy stolen treasures to comfort me. You will comfort me with a lock ofCamillo's hair, that I may have it on my breast to-night, and dream, andwail, and writhe, and curse the air I breathe, and clasp the abominableemptiness like a thousand Camillos. Speak!'
The dagger is seen gleaming up Michiella's wrist; she steps on in a bonytriangle, faced for mischief: a savage Hunnish woman, with the hair of aGoddess--the figure of a cat taking to its forepaws. Close upon Camillashe towers in her whole height, and crying thrice, swift as the assassintrebles his blow, 'Speak,' to Camilla, who is fronting her mildly, sheraises her arm, and the stilet flashes into Camilla's bosom.
'Die then, and outrage me no more.'
Camilla staggers to her husband. Camillo receives her falling.Michiella, seized by Leonardo, presents a stiffened shape of vengeancewith fierce white eyes and dagger aloft. There are many shouts, andthere is silence.
CAMILLA, supported by CAMILLO. 'If this is death, it is not hard to bear. Your handkerchief drinks up my blood so fast It seems to love it. Threads of my own hair Are woven in it. 'Tis the one I cast That midnight from my window, when you stood Alone, and heaven seemed to love you so! I did not think to wet it with my blood When next I tossed it to my love below.'
CAMILLO (cherishing her). 'Camilla, pity! say you will not die. Your voice is like a soul lost in the sky.'
CAMILLA.
'I know not if my soul has flown; I know My body is a weight I cannot raise: My voice between them issues, and I go Upon a journey of uncounted days. Forgetfulness is like a closing sea; But you are very bright above me still. My life I give as it was given to me I enter on a darkness wide and chill.'
CAMILLO. 'O noble heart! a million fires consume The hateful hand that sends you to your doom.'
CAMILLA. 'There is an end to joy: there is no end To striving; therefore ever let us strive In purity that shall the toil befriend, And keep our poor mortality alive. I hang upon the boundaries like light Along the hills when downward goes the day I feel the silent creeping up of night. For you, my husband, lies a flaming way.'
CAMILLO. 'I lose your eyes: I lose your voice: 'tis faint. Ah, Christ! see the fallen eyelids of a saint.'
CAMILLA. 'Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour: we are one With heaven and the stars when it is spent To serve God's aim: else die we with the sun.'
She sinks. Camillo droops his head above her.
The house was hushed as at a veritable death-scene. It was more like acathedral service than an operatic pageant. Agostino had done his bestto put the heart of the creed of his Chief into these last verses.Rocco's music floated them in solemn measures, and Vittoria had beencareful to articulate throughout the sacred monotony so that their fullmeaning should be taken.
In the printed book of the libretto a chorus of cavaliers, followed byone harmless verse of Camilla's adieux to them, and to her husband andlife, concluded the opera.
'Let her stop at that--it's enough!--and she shall be untouched,' saidGeneral Pierson to Antonio-Pericles.
'I have information, as you know, that an extremely impudent song iscoming.'
The General saw Wilfrid hanging about the lobby, in flagrantdisobedience to orders. Rebuking his nephew with a frown, he commandedthe lieutenant to make his way round to the stage and see that thecurtain was dropped according to the printed book.
'Off, mon Dieu! off!' Pericles speeded him; adding in English, 'Shallshe taste prison-damp, zat voice is killed.'
The chorus of cavaliers was a lamentation: the keynote being despair:ordinary libretto verses.
Camilla's eyes unclose. She struggles to be lifted, and, raised onCamillo's arm, she sings as if with the last pulsation of her voice,softly resonant in its rich contralto. She pardons Michiella. She tellsCount Orso that when he has extinguished his appetite for dominion,he will enjoy an unknown pleasure in the friendship of his neighbours.Repeating that her mother lives, and will some day kneel by herdaughter's grave--not mournfully, but in beatitude--she utters her adieuto all.
At the moment of her doing so, Montini whispered in Vittoria's ear.She looked up and beheld the downward curl of the curtain. There wasconfusion at the wings: Croats were visible to the audience. CarloAmmiani and Luciano Romara jumped on the stage; a dozen of the nobleyouths of Milan streamed across the boards to either wing, and caughtthe curtain descending. The whole house had risen insurgent with criesof 'Vittoria.' The curtain-ropes were in the hands of the Croats, butCarlo, Luciano, and their fellows held the curtain aloft at arm's lengthat each side of her. She was seen, and she sang, and the house listened.
The Italians present, one and all, rose up reverently and murmured therefrain. Many of the aristocracy would, doubtless, have preferred thatthis public declaration of the plain enigma should not have rung forthto carry them on the popular current; and some might have sympathizedwith the insane grin which distorted the features of Antonio-Pericles,when he beheld illusion wantonly destroyed, and the opera reduced to bea mere vehicle for a fulmination of politics. But the general enthusiasmwas too tremendous to permit of individual protestations. To sit, whenthe nation was standing, was to be a German. Nor, indeed, was there anItalian in the house who would willingly have consented to see Vittoriasilenced, now that she had chosen to defy the Tedeschi from the boardsof La Scala. The fascination of her voice extended even over the Germandivision of the audience. They, with the Italians, said: 'Hear her! hearher!' The curtain was agitated at the wings, but in the centre it waskept above Vittoria's head by the uplifted arms of the twelve youngmen:--
'I cannot count the years, That you will drink, like me, The cup of blood and tears, Ere she to you appears:-- Italia, Italia shall be free!'
So the great name was out, and its enemies had heard it.
'You dedicate your lives To her, and you will be The food on which she thrives, Till her great day arrives Italia, Italia shall be free!
'She asks you but for faith! Your faith in her takes she As draughts of heaven's breath, Amid defeat and death:-- Italia, Italia shall be free!'
The prima donna was not acting exhaustion when sinking lower inMontini's arms. Her bosom rose and sank quickly, and she gave theterminating verse:--
'I enter the black boat Upon the wide grey sea, Where all her set suns float; Thence hear my voice remote Italia, Italia shall be free!'
The curtain dropped.