The Sisters' Tragedy [7]
banished quite, With eyes in which are Hamlet's awe And Cardinal Richelieu's subtle light, Looks from this frame. A master's hand Has set the master-player here, In the fair temple that he planned Not for himself. To us most dear This image of him! "It was thus He looked; such pallor touched his cheek; With that same grace he greeted us-- Nay, 'tis the man, could it but speak!" Sad words that shall be said some day-- Far fall the day! O cruel Time, Whose breath sweeps mortal things away, Spare long this image of his prime, That others standing in the place Where, save as ghosts, we come no more, May know what sweet majestic face The gentle Prince of Players wore!
PAULINE PAVLOVNA
SCENE: St. Petersburg. Period: the present time. A ballroom in the winter palace of the Prince--. The ladies in character costumes and masks. The gentlemen in official dress and unmasked, with the exception of six tall figures in scarlet kaftans, who are treated with marked distinction as they move here and there among the promenaders. Quadrille music throughout the dialogue. Count SERGIUS PAVLOVICH PANSHINE, who has just arrived, is standing anxiously in the doorway of an antechamber with his eyes fixed upon a lady in the costume of a maid of honor in the time of Catherine II. The lady presently disengages herself from the crowd, and passes near Count PANSHINE, who impulsively takes her by the hand and leads her across the threshold of the inner apartment, which is unoccupied.
HE.
Pauline!
SHE.
You knew me?
HE.
How could I have failed? A mask may hide your features, not your soul. There is an air about you like the air That folds a star. A blind man knows the night, And feels the constellations. No coarse sense Of eye or ear had made you plain to me. Through these I had not found you; for your eyes, As blue as violets of our Novgorod, Look black behind your mask there, and your voice-- I had not known that either. My heart said, "Pauline Pavlovna."
SHE.
Ah! Your heart said that? You trust your heart, then! 'Tis a serious risk!-- How is it you and others wear no mask?
HE.
The Emperor's orders.
SHE.
Is the Emperor here? I have not seen him.
HE.
He is one of the six In scarlet kaftans and all masked alike. Watch--you will note how every one bows down Before those figures, thinking each by chance May be the Tsar; yet none knows which is he. Even his counterparts are left in doubt. Unhappy Russia! No serf ever wore Such chains as gall our Emperor these sad days. He dare trust no man.
SHE.
All men are so false.
HE.
Spare one, Pauline Pavlovna.
SHE.
No; all, all! I think there is no truth left in the world, In man or woman. Once were noble souls.-- Count Sergius, is Nastasia here to-night?
HE.
Ah! then you know! I thought to tell you first. Not here, beneath these hundred curious eyes, In all this glare of light; but in some place Where I could throw me at your feet and weep. In what shape came the story to your ear? Decked in the teller's colors, I'll be sworn; The truth, but in the livery of a lie, And so must wrong me. Only this is true: The Tsar, because I risked my wretched life To shield a life as wretched as my own, Bestows upon me, as supreme reward-- O irony!--the hand of this poor girl. Says, HERE, I HAVE THE PEARL OF PEARLS FOR YOU, SUCH AS WAS NEVER PLUCKED FROM OUT THE DEEP BY INDIAN DIVER, FOR A SULTAN'S CROWN. YOUR JOY'S DECREED, and stabs me with a smile.
SHE.
And she--she loves you?
HE.
I know not, indeed. Likes me, perhaps. What matters it?--HER love! The guardian, Sidor Yurievich, consents, And she consents. No love in it at all, A mere caprice, a young girl's spring-tide dream. Sick of her ear-rings, weary of her mare, She'll have a lover--something ready-made, Or improvised
PAULINE PAVLOVNA
SCENE: St. Petersburg. Period: the present time. A ballroom in the winter palace of the Prince--. The ladies in character costumes and masks. The gentlemen in official dress and unmasked, with the exception of six tall figures in scarlet kaftans, who are treated with marked distinction as they move here and there among the promenaders. Quadrille music throughout the dialogue. Count SERGIUS PAVLOVICH PANSHINE, who has just arrived, is standing anxiously in the doorway of an antechamber with his eyes fixed upon a lady in the costume of a maid of honor in the time of Catherine II. The lady presently disengages herself from the crowd, and passes near Count PANSHINE, who impulsively takes her by the hand and leads her across the threshold of the inner apartment, which is unoccupied.
HE.
Pauline!
SHE.
You knew me?
HE.
How could I have failed? A mask may hide your features, not your soul. There is an air about you like the air That folds a star. A blind man knows the night, And feels the constellations. No coarse sense Of eye or ear had made you plain to me. Through these I had not found you; for your eyes, As blue as violets of our Novgorod, Look black behind your mask there, and your voice-- I had not known that either. My heart said, "Pauline Pavlovna."
SHE.
Ah! Your heart said that? You trust your heart, then! 'Tis a serious risk!-- How is it you and others wear no mask?
HE.
The Emperor's orders.
SHE.
Is the Emperor here? I have not seen him.
HE.
He is one of the six In scarlet kaftans and all masked alike. Watch--you will note how every one bows down Before those figures, thinking each by chance May be the Tsar; yet none knows which is he. Even his counterparts are left in doubt. Unhappy Russia! No serf ever wore Such chains as gall our Emperor these sad days. He dare trust no man.
SHE.
All men are so false.
HE.
Spare one, Pauline Pavlovna.
SHE.
No; all, all! I think there is no truth left in the world, In man or woman. Once were noble souls.-- Count Sergius, is Nastasia here to-night?
HE.
Ah! then you know! I thought to tell you first. Not here, beneath these hundred curious eyes, In all this glare of light; but in some place Where I could throw me at your feet and weep. In what shape came the story to your ear? Decked in the teller's colors, I'll be sworn; The truth, but in the livery of a lie, And so must wrong me. Only this is true: The Tsar, because I risked my wretched life To shield a life as wretched as my own, Bestows upon me, as supreme reward-- O irony!--the hand of this poor girl. Says, HERE, I HAVE THE PEARL OF PEARLS FOR YOU, SUCH AS WAS NEVER PLUCKED FROM OUT THE DEEP BY INDIAN DIVER, FOR A SULTAN'S CROWN. YOUR JOY'S DECREED, and stabs me with a smile.
SHE.
And she--she loves you?
HE.
I know not, indeed. Likes me, perhaps. What matters it?--HER love! The guardian, Sidor Yurievich, consents, And she consents. No love in it at all, A mere caprice, a young girl's spring-tide dream. Sick of her ear-rings, weary of her mare, She'll have a lover--something ready-made, Or improvised