Masks

Cucullus non facit monachum

Live it down! as you have spoken You could live it ere you knew What love was--“a bauble broken, Foolish, of a thing untrue.”-- You, Viola, with your beauty, Cloistered, die a nun? No! you-- You must wed: it is your duty.

There’s your poniard; for the second In this tazza dropped: the blood On it scarcely hard.... I reckoned Happily that hour we stood There upon your palace-stairway, How, with the Franciscan hood Cowled, I said, there was a bare way.

In the minster there I found it-- Our revenge. I saw him, wild, Stalking towards the church: around it Dogged him, marking how he smiled In the moonlight where I waited. When the great clock, beating, dialed Ten, I knew he would be mated.

Heaven or my better devil!-- Hardly had his sword and plume Vanished in the dark, when, level On the long lagoon, did loom, Under moonlight-woven arches, Her slim gondola: all gloom: One tall gondolier: no torches.

Dusky gondolas kept bringing Revellers: and far the night Rang with instruments and singing.-- From the imbricated light Of the oar-vibrating water, Gliding up the stairway, white, Velvet-masked,--the count’s own daughter!

Quick I met her: whispered, “Flora, Gaston.--Mia, till they go, One brief moment here, Siora.-- She’ll perceive us--she, below, See! the duchess’ diamonds sparkling Round the inviolable glow Of her throat--there, dimly darkling:

“That’s Viola!” ... Thus I drew her In the church’s ancient pile-- Under her black mask I knew her, By her chin, her lips, her smile. Through one marble-foliated Window fell the moon-rays. While All the maskers passed we waited.

I had drawn the dagger. Turning Called her by her name. Some lie Of a passion sighed, her burning Hand in mine; when, stalking by, In the square, his form bejeweled Gleamed. My very blood burned dry With the hate his presence fueled.

Our revenge! up-pushing slightly Cowl, the mask fell, and revealed Balka, as the poniard whitely Flashed. The hollow nave re-pealed One long shriek the loft repeated. Swift, I stabbed her thrice. She reeled Dead. I thought of you, the heated

Horror on my hands; and tarried Still as silence. Drawn aside On her face the mask hung, married To its camphor-pallor: wide Eyes with terror--stone. One second I regretted; then defied All remorse. Your promise beckoned;

And I left her. Love had pointed Me this way. I walked the way Clear-eyed and ... it has anointed Us fast lovers?--Do not say, Now, that you will go and nun it! For this man who scorned you?--Nay!-- Live to hate him! You ’ve begun it.