There is no glamour of
triumphant
virtue.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v26 - Tur to Wat
And Lope made the methods of the
Spanish drama, though he did not invent them. He disregarded
unities and classic traditions; he mixed up grave with gay, the hor-
rible and the ludicrous, in a manner which afterwards horrified the
French critics, and drove them to outbursts as violent as that of Vol-
taire against Shakespeare. The arrangement of scenes is dependent
not, as in French, on the entrance of a new personage, but on
change of locality. The influence of Lope de Vega was far-reaching.
France felt it upon Corneille and Molière and groups of lesser drama-
tists; Italy, Germany, and England were saturated with it. It has
been said, perhaps with a little exaggeration, that Lope de Vega
made the stage of Europe romantic by his dramatized novels; thus
undoing the work of Cervantes, which was to moderate romanticism.
So quickly were the dramas of Lope composed, that in diction they
are often crude. Thrown together at white heat, they have the fire
still in them after a lapse of centuries. the thirty that Sismondi
read, ten or twelve are easily obtainable; and any of them will prove
that Lope had wonderful talent. A study of them will not give an
insight into dramatic laws, but it will greatly help the social psy-
chologist. Complete editions of Lope de Vega's works are very rare;
the original editions most rare. He has not had the good fortune of
Calderon in the way of English translators, but he deserves it. He
is full of poetry and patriotism: the hastiest of his pieces answers
to the description of the typical Russian noble of the time of Catha-
rine,—"all splendor without, all squalor within ;” but the lyrical splen-
dor is always there, though the poverty of thought is evident upon
close examination. Lope de Vega at his worst and best is Spain
of the sixteenth century,- grand, superb in the Latin sense, - poor,
glorious, coarse, faithful, and sublime. He invented an olla podrida
in which one finds dropped rubies that are priceless and the herbs
of the field, - all incongruities, - side by side! His metres alone are
worth careful analysis: they are of Spain Spanish.
## p. 15290 (#238) ##########################################
15290
LOPE DE VEGA
-
All critics agree in pronouncing valueless his epics: Jerusalem
Conquered”; The Beauty of Angelica'; 'The Tragic Crown' - Mary
Stuart the heroine; one on Circe and the “Dragontea,” in which
Queen Elizabeth's favorite pirate, Drake, is made Satanic. Satires,
sonnets, novels (among them The Stranger in his Own Country'),
and compositions of all kinds, appeared from his pen, making twenty-
five large volumes.
The most characteristic of Lope's comedies - this, however, must
be said with all possible reserves - are (The Widow of Valencia
and "The Peasant Girl of Xetalfi. These are well known because
Bouterwek has analyzed them. The heroic comedies, (The Discreet
Revenge' and 'The Battlements of Toro,' have been analyzed by both
Bouterwek and Sismondi, — to which George Ticknor in his History
of Spanish Literature) has added admirable comments.
To appreciate the amazing energy of Lope de Vega, one must
glance at his biography. He — born De Vega Carpio - appeared on
this world's stage at Madrid, in 1562. He was two years younger
than Shakespeare, and fifteen years younger than his rival dramatist
Cervantes. His parents were poor and noble, not unusual in Spain.
They began his education well, but they died early; and it was com-
pleted through the kindness of the Bishop of Avila. While secretary
to the Duke of Alva, he married. A duel and exile, followed by the
death of his wife, induced him to join the Invincible Armada. The
Armada failed; but Lope never lost his hatred of the islanders who
had defeated it. He reached Spain in safety, took up the quiet trade
of secretary again, and married again. On the death of his sec-
ond wife he received holy orders. Henceforth he devoted himself
entirely to literature.
Lope de Vega was certainly not the hero of Browning's 'As Seen
by a Contemporary. ' He did not pass through his Spanish town un-
noted. On the contrary, he was praised by all classes; a celebrity
of the first order. Pope Urban VIII. showered every possible mark
of regard upon him. Both populace and nobility hailed him as the
"Spanish Phenix. ” When he died in 1635, both Church and State
united to honor him with ceremonies worthy of a king.
The main fault of modern criticism is that it lacks full sympa-
thy. Lope de Vega and his time will never be understood until they
are judged by an English writer who for the moment can put him-
self in the place of a man who cannot be judged by the standard of
nineteenth-century opinions and morals. And the critic who does
this will be repaid by the gratitude of those who long for the key of
that splendid civilization which gave color to the genius of Shake-
speare and Corneille.
manne francis Egan
## p. 15291 (#239) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15291
SANCHO THE BRAVE
From the (Estrella de Sevilla)
[The King of Castile sees Estrella, called for her beauty the Star of Seville,
during a visit which he makes to that city, and becomes enamored of her.
He summons her brother, Busto Tabera, to the palace, and offers to confer
on him various dignities and honors; which Tabera's independence of spirit,
and later his suspicions of the King's motives, make him slow to accept. The
same night the King, with the connivance of a slave-girl, obtains entrance to
Tabera's house during the latter's absence; but is surprised at the moment
of his entrance by Tabera, who returns unexpectedly. Tabera challenges the
King; and dissatisfied with his answers, draws upon him. The King, to avoid
fighting, reveals himself ; but Tabera refuses to credit his word, and the King
is compelled to draw in self-defense. The noise brings the servants, with
lights, to the scene; and in the confusion the King escapes.
Irritated and humiliated by what has passed, the King sends for Sancho
Ortiz, and requires him to avenge his outraged honor on a man who has been
guilty of the crime of lèse-majesté, and whose name is written in a folded
paper which he hands Ortiz. At the same time the King hands Ortiz another
paper, relieving him of responsibility for the deed. This paper Ortiz destroys,
saying that honorable men require no bond to hold them to their plighted word.
On opening the other paper, after leaving the King, Sancho finds to his dis-
may that the name written in it is that of Tabera, his dearest friend, and the
brother of Estrella, to whom he is betrothed. After a cruel struggle with him-
self, he provokes a quarrel with Tabera and kills him. Estrella petitions the
King to deliver up to her for punishment the slayer of her brother. The
King grants her prayer, hoping meantime to save Sancho's life without dis-
closing his own instrumentality in Tabera's death. Estrella goes veiled to the
prison, and with the King's ring which he has given her, obtains Sancho's
release. Leading him out of the prison, she shows him a horse which she has
provided for him, and tells him to mount it and escape. Sancho refuses, and
asks her to unveil herself. She does so, and attempts to shake his resolution,
which is however only the more confirmed when he sees who his liberator is.
Sancho returns to the prison and Estrella to her house. The play ends with
the scenes given. ]
Present: A Servant, the King; afterwards the Alcaldes
SERY
ERVANT
- My lord,
The two Alcaldes on your Highness wait.
King - Bid them with their wands of office enter.
(Exit Servant.
King — The promise that to Sancho Ortiz I gave,
If in my power it lie will I fulfill;
But of my part in this most cruel deed
Repented truly, letting no hint escape.
Enter the two Alcaldes
## p. 15292 (#240) ##########################################
15292
LOPE DE VEGA
Don Pedro - Great King, the crime being fully proved,
The law demands the sentence.
King -
Pronounce it.
Only, being fathers of the country,
I charge you see to it that it be just.
And clemency than justice is ofttimes
More wise. Sancho Ortiz is of Seville
A magistrate, if he who at his sword
Met death a magistrate of Seville was.
Mercy the one demands, if the other justice.
Farjan- Alcaldes are we of Seville, my lord;
In us you have reposed your confidence,
In us your honor have reposed. These wands
Do represent your Highness; and if false
In aught they prove to their most sacred trust,
They do yourself offend. Straight they do look
To heaven, whence they derive their powers;
But bending to the corrupt desires of men
They turn from their high source away.
King – Thus they should bend, but only thus; nor would I
That, in the sentence, law shall serve the ends.
Of justice.
Don Pedro-
My lord, your Highness is for us
Justice and law; and on your judgments hang
Our welfare. Bid him live and he shall live;
For from the King's decree is no appeal.
Kings are by God appointed; God from the brow
Of Saul the sovereign crown doth take, to place it
On that of lowly David.
King -
Go; find what the sentence is,
What the defense, and let Ortiz be led
Forth to the punishment the law ordains.
[Exit Farfan.
Don Pedro de Guzman, a word with you
Apart.
Don Pedro -
What are your Highness's commands ?
King - The death of Sancho, friend Don Pedro,
Will not restore the man he killed to life;
And thus, 'twere my desire, a punishment
Less harsh imposing, that to Gibraltar
Or to Granada we should banish him,
Where in my service fighting he may find
A voluntary death.
What say you ?
Don Pedro -
This:
That I am called Don Pedro de Guzman,
## p. 15293 (#241) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15293
King -
And hold myself, my liege, at your command.
My life, my fortune, and my sword are yours.
A close embrace, Don Pedro de Guzman.
Nor less from your true heart did I expect.
Go now, and God be with you; send me hither
Presently Farfan de Ribera. (Aside. ] Thus
]
Flattery doth level mountains. [Exit Don Pedro.
Enter Farfan
Furfan -
King - -
Farfan —
My lord,
Your orders I await.
It troubled me,
Farfan de Ribera, that Sancho Ortiz
Should die; but milder counsels now prevail, —
That death be changed to banishment, which is
Indeed a death prolonged, a living death.
Your voice alone is wanting to confirm
The sentence.
Command Farfan de Ribera,
My lord, something of weightier import;
Nor doubt but that my loyalty no doubt
Shall hold from serving you in all things.
So
Do you prove yourself Ribera, adorned
With all the virtues of an earlier day,
Your constant, true companions. Go, and God
Be with you.
[Exit Farfan.
The business was well managed.
Sancho Ortiz from death escapes: my pledge
Is thus redeemed; and none doth aught suspect.
As general of some frontier shall he go;
With which at once I banish and reward him.
King -
Enter Alcaldes
Don Pedro - The sentence now, great King, is signed
And only waits your Highness's approval.
King - Doubtless the sentence such as I desired
That it should be, such noble lords have made it.
Farfan- 'Tis such as doth our loyalty approve.
King (reads] –
“We do decree, and so pronounce the sentence,
That Sancho Ortiz be in the public square
Beheaded. ” — Is this the sentence, caitiffs,
That you have signed! Thus, caitiffs, to your King
Your pledge you keep. God's death!
(
## p. 15294 (#242) ##########################################
15294
LOPE DE VEGA
Farfan-
The pledge he gives
The least of us is ready, as you have proof,
My lord, descended from the judgment seat,
With his life to redeem; but seated there,
No human power, nor earth and heaven combined,
Can make him from the right one jot to swerve
In word or deed.
Don Pedro -
As vassals our obedience
You command: as judges your authority
Extends not over us; to conscience only
Our fealty, as such, being due. In this
Its rights the council of Seville will know
How to maintain.
King -
'Tis well. Enough. You all
Do shame me.
Enter Don Arias, Estrella
Don Arias
King –
Estrella is here.
What course
To take, Don Arias? What counselest thou,
In this so great perplexity ?
Enter the Warden with Don Sancho
My lord,
IVarden
Sancho Ortiz here waits your pleasure.
Don Sancho
Great King,
Wherefore with death dost thou not end my woes ?
Wherefore, the rigor of the law applying,
My cruel sufferings dost thou not end?
Busto Tabera at my hand met death:
Let death be my award; let him who slays
Be slain. Show mercy, meting justice.
King
Stay:
What warrant hadst thou for Tabera's death?
Don Sancho -
A paper.
King -
Signed by whom?
Don Sancho -
That would the paper
Most clearly tell, did it speak; but papers torn
Confusèd accents utter. All I know
Is, that I slew the man I held most dear,
For that I so had pledged my word. But here
Estrella at thy feet the sentence waits
To death that dooms me,- vengeance all too slight.
## p. 15295 (#243) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15295
King -- Estrella, with a noble of my house,
A gallant youth, and in Castile a prince
And powerful lord, we have betrothèd you;
And in return the favor of Sancho's pardon
We ask, which 'tis not just that you deny.
Estrella - If that I am betrothed, my sovereign liege,
Let Sancho Ortiz go free; nor execute
My vengeance.
Don Sancho -
Thy pardon thou dost grant me, then,
For that his Highness has betrothed thee?
Estrella -
Yes:
Therefore it is I pardon thee.
Don Sancho
And thus
Thou art avenged for my offense ?
Estrella -
And satisfied.
Don Sancho
I accept my life, that so thy hopes attain
Fulfillment; although to die were sweeter.
King – You are free.
Farfan -
This to Seville is an offense,
My lord. Sancho Ortiz must die.
King (to Don Arias) -
What now
To do? These people humiliate me,
And put me to confusion.
Don Arias -
Speak
King -
Seville,
I to the law will answer for Tabera's death,
For I did cause it; I did command the deed.
To exonerate Sancho this suffices.
Don Sancho
For this exoneration only did
My* honor wait. The King commanded me
To kill him. So barbarous a deed I'd not
Committed, had he not commanded it.
King – He speaks the truth.
Farfan —
Seville is satisfied.
For since thou didst command the deed,
Doubtless he gave thee cause.
King –
Amazed the Sevillian
Nobleness of soul I contemplate.
Don Sancho
I
To fulfill the sentence of my banishment,
When thou another promise dost fulfill
Thou gavest me, will depart.
King -
I will fulfill it.
## p. 15296 (#244) ##########################################
15296
LOPE DE VEGA
Don Sancho -
The boon I asked, that thou for bride shouldst give me
The maid that I should name.
King -
The boon is granted.
Don Sancho -
The hand of Doña Estrella then I claim;
And here a suppliant at her feet I crave
Pardon for my offense.
Estrella
Sancho Ortiz,
I am another's now.
Don Sancho -
Another's!
Estrella –
Yes.
Don Sancho
Then is the sentence of my death pronounced!
King - Estrella, I have given my royal word,
And should fulfill it. What answerest thou ?
Estrella - That as thou willest so be it. I am his.
Don Sancho-
And I am hers.
King -
What wants there further, then ?
Don Sancho
Accord.
Estrella
And this there could not be between us,
Living together.
Don Sancho
'Tis true; and therefore
I do absolve thee from thy promise.
Estrella -
So
From thine I do absolve thee. The slayer
To see forever of my brother, in bed,
At board, must needs afflict me.
Sancho- And me, to be forever with the sister
Of him I slew unjustly, holding him dear
As my own soul.
Estrella -
So then we are free?
Don Sancho
Yes.
Estrella - Then fare thee well.
Don Sancho
Farewell.
King -
Stay.
Estrella
My lord, the man
Who slew my brother, though I do adore him,
Can never be my husband.
[Exit.
Don Sancho
Nor I, my lord,
Because I adore her, do count it just
Her husband that I should be.
[Exit.
Translation of Mary J. Serrano.
## p. 15297 (#245) ##########################################
15297
GIOVANNI VERGA
(1840-)
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
Ne of the chief representatives of so-called “realistic fiction
in Italy is Giovanni Verga, who was born in Catania, Sicily,
in 1840. His youth was spent in Florence and Milar; and
after living a number of years in his native district, he returned to
Milan, where he still resides. He has himself acknowledged that
his best inspiration has come from the places which he knew as a
boy. He has painted the Sicilian peasant with a master hand. The
keen jealousy that leads too frequently to the sudden flash of the sti-
letto; the grinding poverty which is in such contrast to the beauty of
the Sicilian landscape; the squalid sordidness that looks with greater
sorrow on the death of an ass than the death of wife or child; the
pathetic history of the girl who must go to her shame because life
offers no aid to the virtuous poor; the father deprived of his son
who must serve his time in the army,— all these motives are used by
Verga with consummate power. He understands the force of contrast.
He has a rapier wit; the laugh, sardonic too often, follows on the
heels of pathos. But it is pathos that is most frequently brought
into play,– pathos and the tragic. Few of his stories are not tragic.
There is no glamour of triumphant virtue. The drama always ends
with death and defeat.
The best known of Verga's works is the “Cavalleria Rusticana,'
which by reason of Mascagni's genius has become familiar to opera-
goers all over the world. The story is short; there are no words
wasted: for a moment the sky is bright, then the swift tropic storm
comes; one blinding flash, and all the ruin is accomplished. Verga's
Aights are generally short. His longest story — 'The Malavoglias).
is in reality a welding into one of a number of short stories. But
throughout there is the same minute study of the reality,-- the hard,
gloomy life of the peasant. Verga, in the introduction or proem to
one of his Sicilian tales, gives his notion of what fiction should be:
« The simple truth of human life,” he says, “will always make us thought-
ful; will always have the effectiveness of reality, of genuine tears, of the fevers
and sensations that have afflicted the flesh. The mysterious processes whereby
conflicting passions mingle, develop, and mature, will long constitute the chief
fascination in the study of that psychological phenomenon called the plot of 3
story, and which modern analysis tries to follow with scientific care through
XXVI-057
## p. 15298 (#246) ##########################################
15298
GIOVANNI VERGA
the hidden paths of often contradictory complications. We replace the
artistic method, to which we owe so many glorious masterpieces, by a differ-
ent method, more painstaking and more recondite: we willingly sacrifice the
effect of the catastrophe, of the psychological result, as it was seen through
an almost divine intuition by the great artists of the past; and we employ
instead a logical development, inexorably necessary, less unexpected, less dra-
matic, but not less fateful. We are more modest, if not more humble; but the
conquests that we make with our psychological verities will be none the less
useful to the art of the future.
I have a firm belief that the tri-
umph of the Novel, the completest and most human of all the works of art,
will increase until the affinity and cohesion of all its parts will be so perfect
that the process of its creation will remain a mystery like the development of
human passions themselves. I have a firm belief that the harmony of its
forms will be so absolute, the sincerity of its reality so evident, its method
and justification so deeply rooted, that the artist's hand will remain absolutely
invisible.
« Then the romance will seem to portray a real event; and the work of art
will apparently have come about by itself, spontaneously springing into birth,
and maturing like a natural fact, without any point of contact with its author.
It will not have preserved in its living form any stamp of the mind in which
it originated, any shade of the eye that beheld it, any trace of the lips that
murmured the first words of it as the creative fiat: it will exist by its own
reason, by the mere fact that it is as it should be and must be, palpitating
with life, and yet as immutable as a bronze statue, the author of which has
had the divine courage to eclipse himself, and disappear in his immortal
work. )
Verga's earlier stories show decidedly the influence of the French
school of fiction. His society novels are conventional and rather
vapid, with little native power manifested. Such stories as Helen's
Husband,' or 'Eros,' or 'Royal Tiger,' are no more valuable than the
average run of French novels. Some of them are over-sentimental,
as for instance the 'Storia di una Capinera. But his Sicilian stories
have an entirely different character. They smack of real life, and
take hold of the imagination. The little story here presented as a
specimen of Verga's realism may perhaps be regarded as morbid;
but at the same time it fulfills to the letter the programme laid down
in his literary creed quoted above. The story-teller has completely
effaced himself. You forget that you are reading fiction: it seems
like a transcript from life. Its dramatic power is none the less be-
cause it is so repressed. Much is left to the imagination; but the
effect of the passions here contrasted — love and jealousy — is clearly
seen by the desolation that follows, all the more pathetic because of
the relationships of the three protagonists.
119. 86
## p. 15299 (#247) ##########################################
GIOVANNI VERGA
15299
HOME TRAGEDY
ASA
all
at
.
C* Countess Bice was in a slow decline. Some attributed the
disease to constitutional feebleness; others to some deep-
seated disorder.
In the large bedroom where the lights were turned low,
although all that part of the town was illuminated as if for a
festival, the mother, pale as a sheet, was sitting beside the sick-
bed waiting for the doctor to come. She held in her feverish
hand her daughter's thin and glowing hand, and was talking to
her in that caressing accent and with that put-on smile where-
with we try to reply to the anxious and scrutinizing look of those
who are seriously ill. Melancholy conversations were these, which
under a pretended calmness concealed the dread of a fatal dis-
ease which was hereditary in the family, and had threatened
the countess herself after Bice was born; which brought back the
recollection of the hours of anxiety and worry attendant on the
infancy of the delicate little girl, and the worry caused by the
cruel presentiments which had almost choked down the woman's
natural mother-love, and palliated the husband's first steps astray
— that husband who had died young of a wasting illness, during
which he had suffered for years confined to his easy-chair.
Later, another passion had caused the widow to bloom out
in fresh youth. She had faded somewhat prematurely, what with
the cares of the feeble infant, and of that husband who was the
embodiment of a living death: it was a deep and secret affection,
a cause of uneasiness and jealousy, mingling itself with all her
mundane joys and apparently thriving upon them, and refining
them, rendering them more subtile, more intense, like a delicate
delight perfuming everything -a festa, a society woman's tri-
umph.
Then suddenly this other threatening cloud had arisen — her
daughter's illness darkening the bright skies of her happiness, and
seeming to spread over the heavy curtains of the sick girl's bed,
and to stretch out until it met with those former dark days;
her husband's long death struggle; the grave and anxious face of
the very same physician who had been in charge of the other
case; the tick-tock of the same clock which had marked the
hours of death, and now filled the whole chamber, the whole
house, with a gloomy presentiment. The words of the mother
## p. 15300 (#248) ##########################################
15300
GIOVANNI VERGA
and of the daughter, though they tried to seem calm and gay,
died away like a sigh in the shadow of the infinite vault.
Suddenly the electric bell echoed through a long suite of
brilliant but deserted rooms.
A silent servant walking on his tiptoes preceded the doctor,
who was an old family friend, and seemed to be the only calm
person, while all the rest were full of anxiety. The countess
stood up, unable to hide her nervous agitation.
“Good evening I'm a little late to-day. I am just finishing
my round of calls. And how is the young lady ? ”
He had taken his seat by the bedside. Then when he had
asked to have the shade removed from the lamp, he began his
examination of the invalid, holding between his white, fat fingers
the girl's colorless, delicate wrist, and asking her the usual ques-
tions.
The countess replied with a slight tremor of anxiety in her
voice; Bice with monosyllables in a feeble tone, keeping her
bright restless eyes fixed on the doctor.
In the reception-room was heard the subdued sound of the
bell several times repeated, announcing other visitors; and the
chambermaid entered like a shadow to whisper into the count-
ess's ear the names of the intimate friends who had come to
inquire after the young countess.
Suddenly the doctor raised his head:
"Who is it that just entered the drawing-room ? ” he asked
with a certain vivacity.
"Marquis Danei," replied the countess.
“The usual medicine for to-night,” continued the doctor, as
if he had forgotten what he had asked. “We must take notice
at what hour the fever begins. Otherwise there is nothing new.
We must give time for the cure. ”
But he did not take his fingers off the girl's wrist, and he
fixed a scrutinizing look on her. She had closed her eyes.
The
mother waited anxiously. For a moment her daughter's brilliant
eyes looked into hers, and then a sudden flush of color glowed in
Bice's face.
« For heaven's sake, doctor, for heaven's sake! ” exclaimed the
countess in a supplicating voice, as she accompanied the doctor
into the drawing-room, paying no attention to the friends and
relatives who were waiting there chattering in low voices, how
do you think my daughter is this evening? Tell me the truth. ”
))
## p. 15301 (#249) ##########################################
GIOVANNI VERGA
15301
((
»
ous.
>>
SO
“Nothing new," he replied; "the usual touch of fever, the
usual nervous disturbance. "
But as soon as they had reached a small room on one side,
he planted himself directly in front of the countess, and said
brusquely:
« Your daughter is in love with this Signor Danei. ”
The countess uttered not a word in reply. Only she grew
horribly pale, and instinctively put her hand to her heart.
“I have been suspecting it for some time, continued the
doctor, with a sort of harsh outspokenness. “Now I am sure of
it. It makes a complication in her illness which on account of the
patient's extreme sensitiveness at this moment might become seri-
We must think it over. ”
« He!
That was the first word that escaped from the countess's lips.
It seemed to be spoken outside of her.
« Yes: her pulse told me so. Has she never shown any sign
of it? Have you never suspected anything of the sort ? »
“Never! Bice is so timid
"Does the Marquis Danei come to the house often? ”
The poor woman, under the keen penetrating eyes of this man
who seemed to have assumed the importance of a judge, stam-
mered, “Y-yes. "
“We doctors sometimes have the cure of souls,” added the
doctor with a smile. "Perhaps it was a fortunate thing that he
came while I was here. "
“But all hope is not lost, is it, doctor ? — for the love of
God! »
“No. It depends on circumstances. Good evening. ”
The countess remained a moment in that same room, which
was almost dark, wiping with her handkerchief the cold perspira-
tion that stood out on her temples. Then she went back through
the drawing-room swiftly, greeting her friends with a nod, and
scarcely looking at Danei, who was in a corner among the inti-
mates.
“ Bice! My daughter! The doctor thinks you are better
to-day: did you know it ? »
"Yes, mama! ” replied the girl gently, with that heart-chilling
indifference characteristic of those who are very ill.
“Some of our friends are here; they came on your account.
Would you like to see any of them ? »
(C
## p. 15302 (#250) ##########################################
15302
GIOVANNI VERGA
»
“Who are here ? »
"Well, a number of them: your aunt Augusta, Signor Danei.
Shall they come in for a little moment ? »
Bice closed her eyes as if she were tired out, and she was so
pale that in the semi-darkness a faint tint of pink could be seen
mounting to her cheek.
“No, mama, I do not wish to see any one. ”
Through her closed eyelids, delicate as rose-leaves, she felt
her mother's keen and sorrowful eyes fixed upon her. Suddenly
she opened them, and flung her slender trembling arms around
her neck with an inexpressible mingling of confusion, tenderness,
and vexation. Mother and daughter held each other long in a
close embrace, without saying a word, weeping tears which they
would have been glad to hide.
The relatives and friends who were anxiously waiting to hear
about the invalid had the usual report from the countess, who
stood right in the middle of the drawing-room, unable to repress
an inward tension that now and again cut her breath short.
When they had all taken their departure, she and Danei re-
mained face to face. Many times during Bice's illness they had
been left alone together for a little time, as they were now, in
the window recess, exchanging a few words of comfort and hope,
or absorbed in a silence that blended their thoughts and minds
in the same painful preoccupation; sad and precious moments, in
which she gained the courage and the power to re-enter into the
close and lugubrious atmosphere of the sick-room with a smile of
encouragement.
She stood some time without opening her mouth, her hand
pressed to her forehead. She had such an expression of sadness
in her whole appearance that Danei did not know what to say.
At last he took her hand. She withdrew it. « Listen, Roberto.
I have something to tell you, something on which my daughter's
life depends. "
He waited, grave, a little anxious.
« Bice loves you. "
Danei looked confounded, gazing at the countess, who had
hidden her face in her hands and was sobbing.
“She ? It is impossible! Just consider! ”
The idea was suggested by the doctor, and now I am
sure of it. She is dying of love for you. ”
"I swear to you, I swear to you that -->
«No.
>
## p. 15303 (#251) ##########################################
GIOVANNI VERGA
15303
(
“I know it; I believe you; I have no need of seeking the
reason why my daughter loves you, Roberto,” exclaimed the
mother, sadly. And she sank down on the sofa. Roberto was
also agitated. He tried to take her hand again. She gently
withheld it.
"Anna!
“No, no! ” she replied resolutely. And the silent tears seemed
to furrow her delicate cheeks, as if years — years of grief and
punishment - had been suddenly thrust into her thoughtless
life.
The silence seemed insurmountable. At last Roberto mur-
mured, “What do you wish me to do? Tell me. ”
She looked at him with unspeakable anguish and perplexity,
and stammered, I don't know - I don't know. Let me go back
to her. Leave me alone! »
When the countess returned to the sick-room, her daughter's
eyes in the shadow of the curtain were fixed on her with such a
singularly ardent flame that her mother's blood seemed frozen
as she stood on the threshold.
“Mama! ” cried Bice, “who is in there now? ”
“No one, dear. ”
"Ah! stay with me, then. Don't leave me. ”
And the girl grasped her hands, trembling.
(Poor little girl! Poor dear! You will soon be well. Don't
you know the doctor said so ? »
“Yes, mama.
“And — and — you shall be happy. ” .
The daughter still looked at her mother in the same way.
« Yes, mama. ”
Then she closed her eyes, which seemed black in their sunken
sockets. A death-like silence followed. The mother gazed at that
pale and impenetrable face before her with keen eyes, flushing
and then turning pale.
Suddenly a deep pallor came over her face, and she cried in
an altered voice, "Bice! ”
Her breast heaved spasmodically as if something were strug-
gling with death within. Then she leaned over her daughter,
placing her feverish cheek upon the other cheek so thin and pale,
and whispered in her daughter's ear almost so low as to be un-
intelligible, “Do you hear, Bice? You love him ? »
>
»
((
## p. 15304 (#252) ##########################################
15304
GIOVANNI VERGA
»
(
((
Bice suddenly opened her eyes wide; her face was all aflame.
And with those wide-open and almost frightened eyes, fascinated
by her mother's tearful face, she stammered with an indescribable
accent of bitterness, and as it were of reproach, “O mama! ”
Then the hapless woman, feeling that accent and that excla-
mation penetrate to the very depths of her heart, had the cour-
age to add, “Danei has asked for your hand. ”
"O mama! O mama ! ” said the girl, again and again, with the
same beseeching and agonized tone, wrapping the sheet around
her with a sense of shame. “Mamma mia! »
The countess, who seemed as if she were on the verge of
fainting, stammered, “But if you do not love him — if you do not
love him -say so— tell me — »
The girl listened, palpitating, anxious, moving her lips without
uttering a word, with her eyes wide open, and seeming too large
for her wasted face, gazing into her mother's eyes. Suddenly as
her mother bent over her, she threw her arms around her neck,
trembling all over, pressing her with all the power of her slender
arms, with an effusion that told the whole story.
The mother, in an impulse of despairing love, sobbed, "You
shall get well, you shall get well. ”
And she also trembled convulsively.
The next day the countess was waiting for Danei in her bou-
doir, sitting near the grate and stretching toward the fire her
hands that were so white that they seemed bloodless, and with
her eyes fixed the flames. What thoughts, what visions,
what recollections, were passing before those eyes! The first time
that she had felt disturbed at the sight of Roberto- the silence
that had unexpectedly come upon them — the first words of
love that he had whispered in her ear as he bent his head, and
lowered his voice — the delicious quickening of the pulse that sent
the color to her cheeks and neck as she saw him waiting in the
vestibule of the Apollo to see her pass, handsome, elegant, in her
white satin mantellina. Then afterwards, the long rose-colored
day-dreams in that very spot, the palpitating intense joys, the
feverish expectation, during those hours when Bice was taking
her music-lesson or drawing
Now at the sound of the bell she arose with a nervous tre-
mor; and immediately by an effort of the will she sat down again
with her hands crossed on her lap.
on
-
## p. 15305 (#253) ##########################################
GIOVANNI VERGA
15305
(
>>
The marquis stood hesitatingly on the threshold. She stretched
out her burning hand, but avoided looking at him. As soon as
Danei, not knowing what to think, inquired for Bice, the countess
replied after a brief silence, “Her life is in your hands. "
“For the love of God, Anna— you are mistaken! Bice is mis-
taken! It cannot be! It cannot be! »
The countess shook her head sadly: “No, I am not mistaken!
She has confessed to me. The doctor says that her recovery
depends-on that! )
«On what? ”
Her only reply was to look into his eyes with her eyes glow-
ing with fever. Then, under the influence of that look, his first
word, impetuous, almost brusque, was, “Oh! - No!
She clasped her hands.
“No, Anna! Just consider. It cannot be.
Spanish drama, though he did not invent them. He disregarded
unities and classic traditions; he mixed up grave with gay, the hor-
rible and the ludicrous, in a manner which afterwards horrified the
French critics, and drove them to outbursts as violent as that of Vol-
taire against Shakespeare. The arrangement of scenes is dependent
not, as in French, on the entrance of a new personage, but on
change of locality. The influence of Lope de Vega was far-reaching.
France felt it upon Corneille and Molière and groups of lesser drama-
tists; Italy, Germany, and England were saturated with it. It has
been said, perhaps with a little exaggeration, that Lope de Vega
made the stage of Europe romantic by his dramatized novels; thus
undoing the work of Cervantes, which was to moderate romanticism.
So quickly were the dramas of Lope composed, that in diction they
are often crude. Thrown together at white heat, they have the fire
still in them after a lapse of centuries. the thirty that Sismondi
read, ten or twelve are easily obtainable; and any of them will prove
that Lope had wonderful talent. A study of them will not give an
insight into dramatic laws, but it will greatly help the social psy-
chologist. Complete editions of Lope de Vega's works are very rare;
the original editions most rare. He has not had the good fortune of
Calderon in the way of English translators, but he deserves it. He
is full of poetry and patriotism: the hastiest of his pieces answers
to the description of the typical Russian noble of the time of Catha-
rine,—"all splendor without, all squalor within ;” but the lyrical splen-
dor is always there, though the poverty of thought is evident upon
close examination. Lope de Vega at his worst and best is Spain
of the sixteenth century,- grand, superb in the Latin sense, - poor,
glorious, coarse, faithful, and sublime. He invented an olla podrida
in which one finds dropped rubies that are priceless and the herbs
of the field, - all incongruities, - side by side! His metres alone are
worth careful analysis: they are of Spain Spanish.
## p. 15290 (#238) ##########################################
15290
LOPE DE VEGA
-
All critics agree in pronouncing valueless his epics: Jerusalem
Conquered”; The Beauty of Angelica'; 'The Tragic Crown' - Mary
Stuart the heroine; one on Circe and the “Dragontea,” in which
Queen Elizabeth's favorite pirate, Drake, is made Satanic. Satires,
sonnets, novels (among them The Stranger in his Own Country'),
and compositions of all kinds, appeared from his pen, making twenty-
five large volumes.
The most characteristic of Lope's comedies - this, however, must
be said with all possible reserves - are (The Widow of Valencia
and "The Peasant Girl of Xetalfi. These are well known because
Bouterwek has analyzed them. The heroic comedies, (The Discreet
Revenge' and 'The Battlements of Toro,' have been analyzed by both
Bouterwek and Sismondi, — to which George Ticknor in his History
of Spanish Literature) has added admirable comments.
To appreciate the amazing energy of Lope de Vega, one must
glance at his biography. He — born De Vega Carpio - appeared on
this world's stage at Madrid, in 1562. He was two years younger
than Shakespeare, and fifteen years younger than his rival dramatist
Cervantes. His parents were poor and noble, not unusual in Spain.
They began his education well, but they died early; and it was com-
pleted through the kindness of the Bishop of Avila. While secretary
to the Duke of Alva, he married. A duel and exile, followed by the
death of his wife, induced him to join the Invincible Armada. The
Armada failed; but Lope never lost his hatred of the islanders who
had defeated it. He reached Spain in safety, took up the quiet trade
of secretary again, and married again. On the death of his sec-
ond wife he received holy orders. Henceforth he devoted himself
entirely to literature.
Lope de Vega was certainly not the hero of Browning's 'As Seen
by a Contemporary. ' He did not pass through his Spanish town un-
noted. On the contrary, he was praised by all classes; a celebrity
of the first order. Pope Urban VIII. showered every possible mark
of regard upon him. Both populace and nobility hailed him as the
"Spanish Phenix. ” When he died in 1635, both Church and State
united to honor him with ceremonies worthy of a king.
The main fault of modern criticism is that it lacks full sympa-
thy. Lope de Vega and his time will never be understood until they
are judged by an English writer who for the moment can put him-
self in the place of a man who cannot be judged by the standard of
nineteenth-century opinions and morals. And the critic who does
this will be repaid by the gratitude of those who long for the key of
that splendid civilization which gave color to the genius of Shake-
speare and Corneille.
manne francis Egan
## p. 15291 (#239) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15291
SANCHO THE BRAVE
From the (Estrella de Sevilla)
[The King of Castile sees Estrella, called for her beauty the Star of Seville,
during a visit which he makes to that city, and becomes enamored of her.
He summons her brother, Busto Tabera, to the palace, and offers to confer
on him various dignities and honors; which Tabera's independence of spirit,
and later his suspicions of the King's motives, make him slow to accept. The
same night the King, with the connivance of a slave-girl, obtains entrance to
Tabera's house during the latter's absence; but is surprised at the moment
of his entrance by Tabera, who returns unexpectedly. Tabera challenges the
King; and dissatisfied with his answers, draws upon him. The King, to avoid
fighting, reveals himself ; but Tabera refuses to credit his word, and the King
is compelled to draw in self-defense. The noise brings the servants, with
lights, to the scene; and in the confusion the King escapes.
Irritated and humiliated by what has passed, the King sends for Sancho
Ortiz, and requires him to avenge his outraged honor on a man who has been
guilty of the crime of lèse-majesté, and whose name is written in a folded
paper which he hands Ortiz. At the same time the King hands Ortiz another
paper, relieving him of responsibility for the deed. This paper Ortiz destroys,
saying that honorable men require no bond to hold them to their plighted word.
On opening the other paper, after leaving the King, Sancho finds to his dis-
may that the name written in it is that of Tabera, his dearest friend, and the
brother of Estrella, to whom he is betrothed. After a cruel struggle with him-
self, he provokes a quarrel with Tabera and kills him. Estrella petitions the
King to deliver up to her for punishment the slayer of her brother. The
King grants her prayer, hoping meantime to save Sancho's life without dis-
closing his own instrumentality in Tabera's death. Estrella goes veiled to the
prison, and with the King's ring which he has given her, obtains Sancho's
release. Leading him out of the prison, she shows him a horse which she has
provided for him, and tells him to mount it and escape. Sancho refuses, and
asks her to unveil herself. She does so, and attempts to shake his resolution,
which is however only the more confirmed when he sees who his liberator is.
Sancho returns to the prison and Estrella to her house. The play ends with
the scenes given. ]
Present: A Servant, the King; afterwards the Alcaldes
SERY
ERVANT
- My lord,
The two Alcaldes on your Highness wait.
King - Bid them with their wands of office enter.
(Exit Servant.
King — The promise that to Sancho Ortiz I gave,
If in my power it lie will I fulfill;
But of my part in this most cruel deed
Repented truly, letting no hint escape.
Enter the two Alcaldes
## p. 15292 (#240) ##########################################
15292
LOPE DE VEGA
Don Pedro - Great King, the crime being fully proved,
The law demands the sentence.
King -
Pronounce it.
Only, being fathers of the country,
I charge you see to it that it be just.
And clemency than justice is ofttimes
More wise. Sancho Ortiz is of Seville
A magistrate, if he who at his sword
Met death a magistrate of Seville was.
Mercy the one demands, if the other justice.
Farjan- Alcaldes are we of Seville, my lord;
In us you have reposed your confidence,
In us your honor have reposed. These wands
Do represent your Highness; and if false
In aught they prove to their most sacred trust,
They do yourself offend. Straight they do look
To heaven, whence they derive their powers;
But bending to the corrupt desires of men
They turn from their high source away.
King – Thus they should bend, but only thus; nor would I
That, in the sentence, law shall serve the ends.
Of justice.
Don Pedro-
My lord, your Highness is for us
Justice and law; and on your judgments hang
Our welfare. Bid him live and he shall live;
For from the King's decree is no appeal.
Kings are by God appointed; God from the brow
Of Saul the sovereign crown doth take, to place it
On that of lowly David.
King -
Go; find what the sentence is,
What the defense, and let Ortiz be led
Forth to the punishment the law ordains.
[Exit Farfan.
Don Pedro de Guzman, a word with you
Apart.
Don Pedro -
What are your Highness's commands ?
King - The death of Sancho, friend Don Pedro,
Will not restore the man he killed to life;
And thus, 'twere my desire, a punishment
Less harsh imposing, that to Gibraltar
Or to Granada we should banish him,
Where in my service fighting he may find
A voluntary death.
What say you ?
Don Pedro -
This:
That I am called Don Pedro de Guzman,
## p. 15293 (#241) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15293
King -
And hold myself, my liege, at your command.
My life, my fortune, and my sword are yours.
A close embrace, Don Pedro de Guzman.
Nor less from your true heart did I expect.
Go now, and God be with you; send me hither
Presently Farfan de Ribera. (Aside. ] Thus
]
Flattery doth level mountains. [Exit Don Pedro.
Enter Farfan
Furfan -
King - -
Farfan —
My lord,
Your orders I await.
It troubled me,
Farfan de Ribera, that Sancho Ortiz
Should die; but milder counsels now prevail, —
That death be changed to banishment, which is
Indeed a death prolonged, a living death.
Your voice alone is wanting to confirm
The sentence.
Command Farfan de Ribera,
My lord, something of weightier import;
Nor doubt but that my loyalty no doubt
Shall hold from serving you in all things.
So
Do you prove yourself Ribera, adorned
With all the virtues of an earlier day,
Your constant, true companions. Go, and God
Be with you.
[Exit Farfan.
The business was well managed.
Sancho Ortiz from death escapes: my pledge
Is thus redeemed; and none doth aught suspect.
As general of some frontier shall he go;
With which at once I banish and reward him.
King -
Enter Alcaldes
Don Pedro - The sentence now, great King, is signed
And only waits your Highness's approval.
King - Doubtless the sentence such as I desired
That it should be, such noble lords have made it.
Farfan- 'Tis such as doth our loyalty approve.
King (reads] –
“We do decree, and so pronounce the sentence,
That Sancho Ortiz be in the public square
Beheaded. ” — Is this the sentence, caitiffs,
That you have signed! Thus, caitiffs, to your King
Your pledge you keep. God's death!
(
## p. 15294 (#242) ##########################################
15294
LOPE DE VEGA
Farfan-
The pledge he gives
The least of us is ready, as you have proof,
My lord, descended from the judgment seat,
With his life to redeem; but seated there,
No human power, nor earth and heaven combined,
Can make him from the right one jot to swerve
In word or deed.
Don Pedro -
As vassals our obedience
You command: as judges your authority
Extends not over us; to conscience only
Our fealty, as such, being due. In this
Its rights the council of Seville will know
How to maintain.
King -
'Tis well. Enough. You all
Do shame me.
Enter Don Arias, Estrella
Don Arias
King –
Estrella is here.
What course
To take, Don Arias? What counselest thou,
In this so great perplexity ?
Enter the Warden with Don Sancho
My lord,
IVarden
Sancho Ortiz here waits your pleasure.
Don Sancho
Great King,
Wherefore with death dost thou not end my woes ?
Wherefore, the rigor of the law applying,
My cruel sufferings dost thou not end?
Busto Tabera at my hand met death:
Let death be my award; let him who slays
Be slain. Show mercy, meting justice.
King
Stay:
What warrant hadst thou for Tabera's death?
Don Sancho -
A paper.
King -
Signed by whom?
Don Sancho -
That would the paper
Most clearly tell, did it speak; but papers torn
Confusèd accents utter. All I know
Is, that I slew the man I held most dear,
For that I so had pledged my word. But here
Estrella at thy feet the sentence waits
To death that dooms me,- vengeance all too slight.
## p. 15295 (#243) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15295
King -- Estrella, with a noble of my house,
A gallant youth, and in Castile a prince
And powerful lord, we have betrothèd you;
And in return the favor of Sancho's pardon
We ask, which 'tis not just that you deny.
Estrella - If that I am betrothed, my sovereign liege,
Let Sancho Ortiz go free; nor execute
My vengeance.
Don Sancho -
Thy pardon thou dost grant me, then,
For that his Highness has betrothed thee?
Estrella -
Yes:
Therefore it is I pardon thee.
Don Sancho
And thus
Thou art avenged for my offense ?
Estrella -
And satisfied.
Don Sancho
I accept my life, that so thy hopes attain
Fulfillment; although to die were sweeter.
King – You are free.
Farfan -
This to Seville is an offense,
My lord. Sancho Ortiz must die.
King (to Don Arias) -
What now
To do? These people humiliate me,
And put me to confusion.
Don Arias -
Speak
King -
Seville,
I to the law will answer for Tabera's death,
For I did cause it; I did command the deed.
To exonerate Sancho this suffices.
Don Sancho
For this exoneration only did
My* honor wait. The King commanded me
To kill him. So barbarous a deed I'd not
Committed, had he not commanded it.
King – He speaks the truth.
Farfan —
Seville is satisfied.
For since thou didst command the deed,
Doubtless he gave thee cause.
King –
Amazed the Sevillian
Nobleness of soul I contemplate.
Don Sancho
I
To fulfill the sentence of my banishment,
When thou another promise dost fulfill
Thou gavest me, will depart.
King -
I will fulfill it.
## p. 15296 (#244) ##########################################
15296
LOPE DE VEGA
Don Sancho -
The boon I asked, that thou for bride shouldst give me
The maid that I should name.
King -
The boon is granted.
Don Sancho -
The hand of Doña Estrella then I claim;
And here a suppliant at her feet I crave
Pardon for my offense.
Estrella
Sancho Ortiz,
I am another's now.
Don Sancho -
Another's!
Estrella –
Yes.
Don Sancho
Then is the sentence of my death pronounced!
King - Estrella, I have given my royal word,
And should fulfill it. What answerest thou ?
Estrella - That as thou willest so be it. I am his.
Don Sancho-
And I am hers.
King -
What wants there further, then ?
Don Sancho
Accord.
Estrella
And this there could not be between us,
Living together.
Don Sancho
'Tis true; and therefore
I do absolve thee from thy promise.
Estrella -
So
From thine I do absolve thee. The slayer
To see forever of my brother, in bed,
At board, must needs afflict me.
Sancho- And me, to be forever with the sister
Of him I slew unjustly, holding him dear
As my own soul.
Estrella -
So then we are free?
Don Sancho
Yes.
Estrella - Then fare thee well.
Don Sancho
Farewell.
King -
Stay.
Estrella
My lord, the man
Who slew my brother, though I do adore him,
Can never be my husband.
[Exit.
Don Sancho
Nor I, my lord,
Because I adore her, do count it just
Her husband that I should be.
[Exit.
Translation of Mary J. Serrano.
## p. 15297 (#245) ##########################################
15297
GIOVANNI VERGA
(1840-)
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
Ne of the chief representatives of so-called “realistic fiction
in Italy is Giovanni Verga, who was born in Catania, Sicily,
in 1840. His youth was spent in Florence and Milar; and
after living a number of years in his native district, he returned to
Milan, where he still resides. He has himself acknowledged that
his best inspiration has come from the places which he knew as a
boy. He has painted the Sicilian peasant with a master hand. The
keen jealousy that leads too frequently to the sudden flash of the sti-
letto; the grinding poverty which is in such contrast to the beauty of
the Sicilian landscape; the squalid sordidness that looks with greater
sorrow on the death of an ass than the death of wife or child; the
pathetic history of the girl who must go to her shame because life
offers no aid to the virtuous poor; the father deprived of his son
who must serve his time in the army,— all these motives are used by
Verga with consummate power. He understands the force of contrast.
He has a rapier wit; the laugh, sardonic too often, follows on the
heels of pathos. But it is pathos that is most frequently brought
into play,– pathos and the tragic. Few of his stories are not tragic.
There is no glamour of triumphant virtue. The drama always ends
with death and defeat.
The best known of Verga's works is the “Cavalleria Rusticana,'
which by reason of Mascagni's genius has become familiar to opera-
goers all over the world. The story is short; there are no words
wasted: for a moment the sky is bright, then the swift tropic storm
comes; one blinding flash, and all the ruin is accomplished. Verga's
Aights are generally short. His longest story — 'The Malavoglias).
is in reality a welding into one of a number of short stories. But
throughout there is the same minute study of the reality,-- the hard,
gloomy life of the peasant. Verga, in the introduction or proem to
one of his Sicilian tales, gives his notion of what fiction should be:
« The simple truth of human life,” he says, “will always make us thought-
ful; will always have the effectiveness of reality, of genuine tears, of the fevers
and sensations that have afflicted the flesh. The mysterious processes whereby
conflicting passions mingle, develop, and mature, will long constitute the chief
fascination in the study of that psychological phenomenon called the plot of 3
story, and which modern analysis tries to follow with scientific care through
XXVI-057
## p. 15298 (#246) ##########################################
15298
GIOVANNI VERGA
the hidden paths of often contradictory complications. We replace the
artistic method, to which we owe so many glorious masterpieces, by a differ-
ent method, more painstaking and more recondite: we willingly sacrifice the
effect of the catastrophe, of the psychological result, as it was seen through
an almost divine intuition by the great artists of the past; and we employ
instead a logical development, inexorably necessary, less unexpected, less dra-
matic, but not less fateful. We are more modest, if not more humble; but the
conquests that we make with our psychological verities will be none the less
useful to the art of the future.
I have a firm belief that the tri-
umph of the Novel, the completest and most human of all the works of art,
will increase until the affinity and cohesion of all its parts will be so perfect
that the process of its creation will remain a mystery like the development of
human passions themselves. I have a firm belief that the harmony of its
forms will be so absolute, the sincerity of its reality so evident, its method
and justification so deeply rooted, that the artist's hand will remain absolutely
invisible.
« Then the romance will seem to portray a real event; and the work of art
will apparently have come about by itself, spontaneously springing into birth,
and maturing like a natural fact, without any point of contact with its author.
It will not have preserved in its living form any stamp of the mind in which
it originated, any shade of the eye that beheld it, any trace of the lips that
murmured the first words of it as the creative fiat: it will exist by its own
reason, by the mere fact that it is as it should be and must be, palpitating
with life, and yet as immutable as a bronze statue, the author of which has
had the divine courage to eclipse himself, and disappear in his immortal
work. )
Verga's earlier stories show decidedly the influence of the French
school of fiction. His society novels are conventional and rather
vapid, with little native power manifested. Such stories as Helen's
Husband,' or 'Eros,' or 'Royal Tiger,' are no more valuable than the
average run of French novels. Some of them are over-sentimental,
as for instance the 'Storia di una Capinera. But his Sicilian stories
have an entirely different character. They smack of real life, and
take hold of the imagination. The little story here presented as a
specimen of Verga's realism may perhaps be regarded as morbid;
but at the same time it fulfills to the letter the programme laid down
in his literary creed quoted above. The story-teller has completely
effaced himself. You forget that you are reading fiction: it seems
like a transcript from life. Its dramatic power is none the less be-
cause it is so repressed. Much is left to the imagination; but the
effect of the passions here contrasted — love and jealousy — is clearly
seen by the desolation that follows, all the more pathetic because of
the relationships of the three protagonists.
119. 86
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15299
HOME TRAGEDY
ASA
all
at
.
C* Countess Bice was in a slow decline. Some attributed the
disease to constitutional feebleness; others to some deep-
seated disorder.
In the large bedroom where the lights were turned low,
although all that part of the town was illuminated as if for a
festival, the mother, pale as a sheet, was sitting beside the sick-
bed waiting for the doctor to come. She held in her feverish
hand her daughter's thin and glowing hand, and was talking to
her in that caressing accent and with that put-on smile where-
with we try to reply to the anxious and scrutinizing look of those
who are seriously ill. Melancholy conversations were these, which
under a pretended calmness concealed the dread of a fatal dis-
ease which was hereditary in the family, and had threatened
the countess herself after Bice was born; which brought back the
recollection of the hours of anxiety and worry attendant on the
infancy of the delicate little girl, and the worry caused by the
cruel presentiments which had almost choked down the woman's
natural mother-love, and palliated the husband's first steps astray
— that husband who had died young of a wasting illness, during
which he had suffered for years confined to his easy-chair.
Later, another passion had caused the widow to bloom out
in fresh youth. She had faded somewhat prematurely, what with
the cares of the feeble infant, and of that husband who was the
embodiment of a living death: it was a deep and secret affection,
a cause of uneasiness and jealousy, mingling itself with all her
mundane joys and apparently thriving upon them, and refining
them, rendering them more subtile, more intense, like a delicate
delight perfuming everything -a festa, a society woman's tri-
umph.
Then suddenly this other threatening cloud had arisen — her
daughter's illness darkening the bright skies of her happiness, and
seeming to spread over the heavy curtains of the sick girl's bed,
and to stretch out until it met with those former dark days;
her husband's long death struggle; the grave and anxious face of
the very same physician who had been in charge of the other
case; the tick-tock of the same clock which had marked the
hours of death, and now filled the whole chamber, the whole
house, with a gloomy presentiment. The words of the mother
## p. 15300 (#248) ##########################################
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and of the daughter, though they tried to seem calm and gay,
died away like a sigh in the shadow of the infinite vault.
Suddenly the electric bell echoed through a long suite of
brilliant but deserted rooms.
A silent servant walking on his tiptoes preceded the doctor,
who was an old family friend, and seemed to be the only calm
person, while all the rest were full of anxiety. The countess
stood up, unable to hide her nervous agitation.
“Good evening I'm a little late to-day. I am just finishing
my round of calls. And how is the young lady ? ”
He had taken his seat by the bedside. Then when he had
asked to have the shade removed from the lamp, he began his
examination of the invalid, holding between his white, fat fingers
the girl's colorless, delicate wrist, and asking her the usual ques-
tions.
The countess replied with a slight tremor of anxiety in her
voice; Bice with monosyllables in a feeble tone, keeping her
bright restless eyes fixed on the doctor.
In the reception-room was heard the subdued sound of the
bell several times repeated, announcing other visitors; and the
chambermaid entered like a shadow to whisper into the count-
ess's ear the names of the intimate friends who had come to
inquire after the young countess.
Suddenly the doctor raised his head:
"Who is it that just entered the drawing-room ? ” he asked
with a certain vivacity.
"Marquis Danei," replied the countess.
“The usual medicine for to-night,” continued the doctor, as
if he had forgotten what he had asked. “We must take notice
at what hour the fever begins. Otherwise there is nothing new.
We must give time for the cure. ”
But he did not take his fingers off the girl's wrist, and he
fixed a scrutinizing look on her. She had closed her eyes.
The
mother waited anxiously. For a moment her daughter's brilliant
eyes looked into hers, and then a sudden flush of color glowed in
Bice's face.
« For heaven's sake, doctor, for heaven's sake! ” exclaimed the
countess in a supplicating voice, as she accompanied the doctor
into the drawing-room, paying no attention to the friends and
relatives who were waiting there chattering in low voices, how
do you think my daughter is this evening? Tell me the truth. ”
))
## p. 15301 (#249) ##########################################
GIOVANNI VERGA
15301
((
»
ous.
>>
SO
“Nothing new," he replied; "the usual touch of fever, the
usual nervous disturbance. "
But as soon as they had reached a small room on one side,
he planted himself directly in front of the countess, and said
brusquely:
« Your daughter is in love with this Signor Danei. ”
The countess uttered not a word in reply. Only she grew
horribly pale, and instinctively put her hand to her heart.
“I have been suspecting it for some time, continued the
doctor, with a sort of harsh outspokenness. “Now I am sure of
it. It makes a complication in her illness which on account of the
patient's extreme sensitiveness at this moment might become seri-
We must think it over. ”
« He!
That was the first word that escaped from the countess's lips.
It seemed to be spoken outside of her.
« Yes: her pulse told me so. Has she never shown any sign
of it? Have you never suspected anything of the sort ? »
“Never! Bice is so timid
"Does the Marquis Danei come to the house often? ”
The poor woman, under the keen penetrating eyes of this man
who seemed to have assumed the importance of a judge, stam-
mered, “Y-yes. "
“We doctors sometimes have the cure of souls,” added the
doctor with a smile. "Perhaps it was a fortunate thing that he
came while I was here. "
“But all hope is not lost, is it, doctor ? — for the love of
God! »
“No. It depends on circumstances. Good evening. ”
The countess remained a moment in that same room, which
was almost dark, wiping with her handkerchief the cold perspira-
tion that stood out on her temples. Then she went back through
the drawing-room swiftly, greeting her friends with a nod, and
scarcely looking at Danei, who was in a corner among the inti-
mates.
“ Bice! My daughter! The doctor thinks you are better
to-day: did you know it ? »
"Yes, mama! ” replied the girl gently, with that heart-chilling
indifference characteristic of those who are very ill.
“Some of our friends are here; they came on your account.
Would you like to see any of them ? »
(C
## p. 15302 (#250) ##########################################
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»
“Who are here ? »
"Well, a number of them: your aunt Augusta, Signor Danei.
Shall they come in for a little moment ? »
Bice closed her eyes as if she were tired out, and she was so
pale that in the semi-darkness a faint tint of pink could be seen
mounting to her cheek.
“No, mama, I do not wish to see any one. ”
Through her closed eyelids, delicate as rose-leaves, she felt
her mother's keen and sorrowful eyes fixed upon her. Suddenly
she opened them, and flung her slender trembling arms around
her neck with an inexpressible mingling of confusion, tenderness,
and vexation. Mother and daughter held each other long in a
close embrace, without saying a word, weeping tears which they
would have been glad to hide.
The relatives and friends who were anxiously waiting to hear
about the invalid had the usual report from the countess, who
stood right in the middle of the drawing-room, unable to repress
an inward tension that now and again cut her breath short.
When they had all taken their departure, she and Danei re-
mained face to face. Many times during Bice's illness they had
been left alone together for a little time, as they were now, in
the window recess, exchanging a few words of comfort and hope,
or absorbed in a silence that blended their thoughts and minds
in the same painful preoccupation; sad and precious moments, in
which she gained the courage and the power to re-enter into the
close and lugubrious atmosphere of the sick-room with a smile of
encouragement.
She stood some time without opening her mouth, her hand
pressed to her forehead. She had such an expression of sadness
in her whole appearance that Danei did not know what to say.
At last he took her hand. She withdrew it. « Listen, Roberto.
I have something to tell you, something on which my daughter's
life depends. "
He waited, grave, a little anxious.
« Bice loves you. "
Danei looked confounded, gazing at the countess, who had
hidden her face in her hands and was sobbing.
“She ? It is impossible! Just consider! ”
The idea was suggested by the doctor, and now I am
sure of it. She is dying of love for you. ”
"I swear to you, I swear to you that -->
«No.
>
## p. 15303 (#251) ##########################################
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15303
(
“I know it; I believe you; I have no need of seeking the
reason why my daughter loves you, Roberto,” exclaimed the
mother, sadly. And she sank down on the sofa. Roberto was
also agitated. He tried to take her hand again. She gently
withheld it.
"Anna!
“No, no! ” she replied resolutely. And the silent tears seemed
to furrow her delicate cheeks, as if years — years of grief and
punishment - had been suddenly thrust into her thoughtless
life.
The silence seemed insurmountable. At last Roberto mur-
mured, “What do you wish me to do? Tell me. ”
She looked at him with unspeakable anguish and perplexity,
and stammered, I don't know - I don't know. Let me go back
to her. Leave me alone! »
When the countess returned to the sick-room, her daughter's
eyes in the shadow of the curtain were fixed on her with such a
singularly ardent flame that her mother's blood seemed frozen
as she stood on the threshold.
“Mama! ” cried Bice, “who is in there now? ”
“No one, dear. ”
"Ah! stay with me, then. Don't leave me. ”
And the girl grasped her hands, trembling.
(Poor little girl! Poor dear! You will soon be well. Don't
you know the doctor said so ? »
“Yes, mama.
“And — and — you shall be happy. ” .
The daughter still looked at her mother in the same way.
« Yes, mama. ”
Then she closed her eyes, which seemed black in their sunken
sockets. A death-like silence followed. The mother gazed at that
pale and impenetrable face before her with keen eyes, flushing
and then turning pale.
Suddenly a deep pallor came over her face, and she cried in
an altered voice, "Bice! ”
Her breast heaved spasmodically as if something were strug-
gling with death within. Then she leaned over her daughter,
placing her feverish cheek upon the other cheek so thin and pale,
and whispered in her daughter's ear almost so low as to be un-
intelligible, “Do you hear, Bice? You love him ? »
>
»
((
## p. 15304 (#252) ##########################################
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»
(
((
Bice suddenly opened her eyes wide; her face was all aflame.
And with those wide-open and almost frightened eyes, fascinated
by her mother's tearful face, she stammered with an indescribable
accent of bitterness, and as it were of reproach, “O mama! ”
Then the hapless woman, feeling that accent and that excla-
mation penetrate to the very depths of her heart, had the cour-
age to add, “Danei has asked for your hand. ”
"O mama! O mama ! ” said the girl, again and again, with the
same beseeching and agonized tone, wrapping the sheet around
her with a sense of shame. “Mamma mia! »
The countess, who seemed as if she were on the verge of
fainting, stammered, “But if you do not love him — if you do not
love him -say so— tell me — »
The girl listened, palpitating, anxious, moving her lips without
uttering a word, with her eyes wide open, and seeming too large
for her wasted face, gazing into her mother's eyes. Suddenly as
her mother bent over her, she threw her arms around her neck,
trembling all over, pressing her with all the power of her slender
arms, with an effusion that told the whole story.
The mother, in an impulse of despairing love, sobbed, "You
shall get well, you shall get well. ”
And she also trembled convulsively.
The next day the countess was waiting for Danei in her bou-
doir, sitting near the grate and stretching toward the fire her
hands that were so white that they seemed bloodless, and with
her eyes fixed the flames. What thoughts, what visions,
what recollections, were passing before those eyes! The first time
that she had felt disturbed at the sight of Roberto- the silence
that had unexpectedly come upon them — the first words of
love that he had whispered in her ear as he bent his head, and
lowered his voice — the delicious quickening of the pulse that sent
the color to her cheeks and neck as she saw him waiting in the
vestibule of the Apollo to see her pass, handsome, elegant, in her
white satin mantellina. Then afterwards, the long rose-colored
day-dreams in that very spot, the palpitating intense joys, the
feverish expectation, during those hours when Bice was taking
her music-lesson or drawing
Now at the sound of the bell she arose with a nervous tre-
mor; and immediately by an effort of the will she sat down again
with her hands crossed on her lap.
on
-
## p. 15305 (#253) ##########################################
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15305
(
>>
The marquis stood hesitatingly on the threshold. She stretched
out her burning hand, but avoided looking at him. As soon as
Danei, not knowing what to think, inquired for Bice, the countess
replied after a brief silence, “Her life is in your hands. "
“For the love of God, Anna— you are mistaken! Bice is mis-
taken! It cannot be! It cannot be! »
The countess shook her head sadly: “No, I am not mistaken!
She has confessed to me. The doctor says that her recovery
depends-on that! )
«On what? ”
Her only reply was to look into his eyes with her eyes glow-
ing with fever. Then, under the influence of that look, his first
word, impetuous, almost brusque, was, “Oh! - No!
She clasped her hands.
“No, Anna! Just consider. It cannot be.
