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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe – Volume 5
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Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I’m certain, Madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it. (exit.)
(Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table – after a
short pause raises it.)
Lal. Poor Lalage! – and is it come to this?
Thy servant maid! – but courage! – ‘tis but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!
(taking up the mirror)
Ha! here at least ‘s a friend – too much a friend
In earlier days – a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale – a pretty tale – and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe: It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased – remembers me
Of Joy departed – Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed: – now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true – thou liest not!
Thou hast no end to gain – no heart to break —
Castiglione lied who said he loved —
Thou true – he false! – false! – false!
(While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment, and approaches
unobserved.)
Monk. Refuge thou hast,
Sweet daughter, in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!
Lal. (arising hurriedly.) I cannot pray! – My soul is at war
with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses – go! I cannot pray —
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!
Thy presence grieves me – go! – thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread – thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!
Monk. Think of thy precious soul!
Lal. Think of my early days! – think of my father
And mother in Heaven think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters! – think of them!
And think of me! – think of my trusting love
And confidence – his vows – my ruin – think – think
Of my unspeakable misery! – begone!
Yet stay! yet stay! – what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith
And vows before the throne?
Monk. I did.
Lal. Lal. ‘Tis well.
There is a vow were fitting should be made —
A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,
A solemn vow!
Monk. Daughter, this zeal is well!
Lal. Father, this zeal is anything but well!
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?
A crucifix whereon to register
This sacred vow? (he hands her his own)
Not that – Oh! no! – no! – no! (shuddering)
Not that! Not that! – I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself, —
I have a crucifix Methinks ‘twere fitting
The deed – the vow – the symbol of the deed —
And the deed’s register should tally, father!
(draws a cross-handled dagger, and raises it on high)
Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine
Is written in Heaven!
Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter,
And speak a purpose unholy – thy lips are livid —
Thine eyes are wild – tempt not the wrath divine!
Pause ere too late! – oh, be not – be not rash!
Swear not the oath – oh, swear it not!
Lal. ‘Tis sworn!
III
An apartment in a Palace. Politian and Baldazzar.
Baldazzar. – — Arouse thee now, Politian!
Thou must not – nay indeed, indeed, shalt not
And at the best I’m certain, Madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it. (exit.)
(Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table – after a
short pause raises it.)
Lal. Poor Lalage! – and is it come to this?
Thy servant maid! – but courage! – ‘tis but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!
(taking up the mirror)
Ha! here at least ‘s a friend – too much a friend
In earlier days – a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale – a pretty tale – and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe: It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased – remembers me
Of Joy departed – Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed: – now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true – thou liest not!
Thou hast no end to gain – no heart to break —
Castiglione lied who said he loved —
Thou true – he false! – false! – false!
(While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment, and approaches
unobserved.)
Monk. Refuge thou hast,
Sweet daughter, in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!
Lal. (arising hurriedly.) I cannot pray! – My soul is at war
with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses – go! I cannot pray —
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!
Thy presence grieves me – go! – thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread – thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!
Monk. Think of thy precious soul!
Lal. Think of my early days! – think of my father
And mother in Heaven think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters! – think of them!
And think of me! – think of my trusting love
And confidence – his vows – my ruin – think – think
Of my unspeakable misery! – begone!
Yet stay! yet stay! – what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith
And vows before the throne?
Monk. I did.
Lal. Lal. ‘Tis well.
There is a vow were fitting should be made —
A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,
A solemn vow!
Monk. Daughter, this zeal is well!
Lal. Father, this zeal is anything but well!
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?
A crucifix whereon to register
This sacred vow? (he hands her his own)
Not that – Oh! no! – no! – no! (shuddering)
Not that! Not that! – I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself, —
I have a crucifix Methinks ‘twere fitting
The deed – the vow – the symbol of the deed —
And the deed’s register should tally, father!
(draws a cross-handled dagger, and raises it on high)
Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine
Is written in Heaven!
Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter,
And speak a purpose unholy – thy lips are livid —
Thine eyes are wild – tempt not the wrath divine!
Pause ere too late! – oh, be not – be not rash!
Swear not the oath – oh, swear it not!
Lal. ‘Tis sworn!
III
An apartment in a Palace. Politian and Baldazzar.
Baldazzar. – — Arouse thee now, Politian!
Thou must not – nay indeed, indeed, shalt not
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