Garden of Imperia's villa.
Leonardo. That will do for to-day, Donina.
Donina. I am not tired. You mustn't stop on my account.
Leonardo. I know that you are strong now. We need not be careful of your health any more. It isn't the model this time who is tired, it's the artist. Who could work today What an afternoon! We pray for days like this for our little holidays, but to-day all nature is on holiday. How much better right has she to ask us not to intrude our petty affairs upon her divine calm! Work to-day? Not even in thought! It is enough to be alive, to have eyes to see, to drink in the air and sunlight, to breathe the perfumes of the sea and the flowers. You seem sad, Donina. Why are you always sad?
Nunu. She's afraid she's going to die.
Leonardo. The doctors say that you are well now. As soon as you are happy, you begin to think of dying. You are happy, Donina?
Donina. Very happy. That is the reason I am afraid.
Nunu. Can you see Prince Michael's yacht from there?
Leonardo. Yes, I think so. There it is. It came in this morning.
Donina. Why does Prince Michael come back? I thought he went away to be Emperor.
Leonardo. Don't ask me, Donina. It is nothing to us. The Empire of Suavia is very far away.
Donina. It is a great deal too near.
Nunu. Can't we go out in the boat as we did yesterday? Why do we have to stay here all afternoon?
Donina. Are you tired, Nunu?
Nunu. No, but the sea air would be better for you. We never leave this place.
Donina. It is so beautiful!
Nunu. Yes, but it's a bore. It's like a prison.
Donina. Like a prison?
Leonardo. [Aside to Nunu] You're a bad actor, Nunu.
Nunu. I can't stand this forever.
Imperia enters.
Imperia. You have stopped early to-day. Doesn't Donina feel well?
Donina. No, it was Leonardo.
Leonardo. Yes, it was I—the idler always! We are almost done.
Donina. It looks just like me.
Imperia. No, I don't want to see it until it is finished. Does she look as I did when you first knew me, when I was your model?
Leonardo. No, Imperia. There may be something in the features, but the expression is not the same. You had more life, more will. Donina could never have climbed up over the rocks until she had reached the steps of a throne.
Imperia. Why not? You say that because you are merely copying the sadness of her face, you are making a portrait, not expressing an idea in your work. My statue was designed to challenge attention, to triumph eternally, while hers is only for me. You are snatching from death by your art all that we are permitted to save.
Leonardo. I told her I was tired, but her color frightened me—her labored breath. There is no hope.
Imperia. They say that those who die of this disease are never conscious of the approach of death. But Donina thinks of nothing else. She looks forward to it, she expects it.
Leonardo. It is the cunning of despair, the fearsome dread of death. She knows that it is a bad sign to be cheerful, so she pretends to be afraid. But she does not deceive herself.
Donina laughs.
Imperia. She is laughing! She is happy! Oh, so happy! What are you doing, Donina?
Donina. Picking flowers for you—roses. Aren't roses your favorite flowers? I was laughing because Nunu was telling me a story about them. It wasn't very nice, but it was funny; all his stories are. It was about a nunnery with a garden that had roses in it, and the devil came and hung a little imp on every bush, just the same in color as the roses, so that they looked like little babies. And when the nuns saw them, they thought they were in mortal sin, and so as not to make a scandal they ran and hid them in their cells. But the little devils jumped out and began to run and skip and cut up all sorts of capers—they sang in the choir, and danced while the organ played, and rang the bells in the belfry and then finally—no, I don't think I'll tell you what they did finally—it might not seem nice; but it was funny. You tell them, Nunu; they'll laugh as much as I did.
Nunu. Don't be silly. Come on and pick some more flowers.
Imperia. Yes, laugh, Donina, laugh! Ah, Leonardo, why do we waste our lives in dreams and ambition? Our true life is the love which springs in our hearts. The happiness of a child is the only lasting joy, the one hint which life gives us of the value and meaning of life.
Leonardo. Then you are not going to Suavia? Prince Michael has returned solely for you. Must he go back alone to rule his empire?
Imperia. He says that without me he cannot accept the crown. His ship will be lost forever on the deep, cast up on some unknown coast, where his days will be spent in obscurity, and he will slip from the world unnoticed at the close. By nature he is indolent; all his energy, his hope are in me.
Leonardo. But you?
Imperia. While my child lives, my place is with her.
Leonardo. It will not be long.
Imperia. I never wished till now to stop the hand of time. On a day like this, it seems as if we should never die; as if it were impossible that we should be passing through life like shadows, looking out for a little while upon the earth, the sea, and the sky which whisper to us of their eternity and our sudden death. Life cannot be all a cheat—it would be too cruel! No, there is, there must be something higher, something more eternal in us than this sea and this sky.
Leonardo. But what is there in our lives which deserves to endure? Is it what we are, or what we appear to be?—the love that was in us once? what we long for and dream? Where are our true selves to be found?
Donina and Nunu come forward with armfuls of roses.
Donina. Look what lovely roses! They are all colors. Bring them here, Nunu; we picked them all. What difference does it make? The bushes will be covered with them again to-morrow.
Imperia. There never were such beautiful flowers.
Leonardo. Nor none more suggestive of life. All the colors of the flesh—red, like blood, like lovers' lips; pink, like the skins of children; amber pale, with a languorous carmine touch, like the warm nudes of Titian; voluptuously opulent, like the great goddesses of Rubens; white and bloodless as a virgin's hands.
Donina. These are sallow like wax—like the dead.
Leonardo. No, Donina, they are all alive, they are not like the dead; they live. When I hold them upside down, they are like little ladies, with the petals and the corolla here for skirts. This might be a stately marchioness, a Madame Pompadour, with her wide rose panniers—the stem her slender waist, and these two green leaves by the side, her great, puffed-out sleeves. Although something is lacking… wait! Let us make a foolish little head for our marchioness out of this petal, with a long, tapering neck so thin, as the poet says, that it is shaped for the guillotine. This might be an Infanta of Spain with her spreading hoop-skirts, and this a magnificent Dogaressa of Venice, imperial in her purple! When you hold them like this, isn't it true that roses resemble ladies in flowers?
Donina. Yes, they do. How lovely! They are just like ladies. Look, Nunu! But you won't look. You're foolish enough to be afraid that they might be really, and fall in love with you. But I'll spoil them all first. There! There! [Throwing roses at him.
Nunu. Look out! [Throwing roses hack at her] It's a battle of flowers.
Donina. Look out yourself!
They run off, pelting each other with roses.
Imperia. It cannot be death, Leonardo. Donina is so happy!
Leonardo. Deceptive happiness! You know the cost.
Imperia. Yes, but Donina could not live without him. In spite of all that he has done to her, I had to bring him here, to keep him, by flattery, by fear. The wretched boy wants to go, but I tell him that I will have him taken to Suavia and accused of the murder of Prince Florencio. What does it matter if it is a lie? Donina has forgiven him, and she believes that he loves her as she was never loved before, and she is happy—dying happy in the belief. Without it, she would have died long ago, in an agony of grief and remorse. His treachery would have killed her.
Leonardo. Do you believe that Nunu will be able to deceive her much longer?
Imperia. It is not his virtue that I count upon, it is his interest. And I am here to attend to it.
Leonardo. The Countess Rinaldi has driven up to the gate.
Imperia. She has seen the Prince's yacht, and she is anxious to know whether I am going to Suavia. Tell her I am not at home; get rid of her in any way you can. That woman is odious.
Leonardo. Why odious? She is another shadow passing through life, indefatigable in the pursuit of her ideal.
Imperia goes out.
The Countess Rinaldi enters.
Rinaldi. Leonardo!
Leonardo. My dear Countess! Did they tell you Imperia was not at home?
Rinaldi. I didn't ask whether she was or not. There was nobody at the gate. However, I was certain to find some one, now that Imperia is living en famille. Of course I count you as one of the family.
Leonardo. Of the artistic family.
Rinaldi. It is the same thing. We all return to our starting-point sooner or later, unless we run on forever. But I advise you to be careful; Prince Michael has returned, too, in spite of everything.
Leonardo. In spite of it? He always insisted that he would.
Rinaldi. It seems that after the suicide of Prince Florencio—I hope you notice the suicide—I confine myself to the truth which is official.
Leonardo. An unexceptionable sort of confinement. After all it makes life possible.
Rinaldi. I know. The difficulty is, though, that people have such a weakness for the likely lie. Nobody has been able to account for the suicide.
Leonardo. Why not ask the Signore?
Rinaldi. You could never get it out of him. A crime here would horrify the aristocratic element; they are the persons who spend the money. One cannot die here, one cannot kill oneself, except in some way that is agreeable. We die of happiness, we kill ourselves so as not to occasion inconvenience to others. Nevertheless, I have decided to swallow the whole story—a reminiscence, eh, of Saturday Night? Like that affair of Lady Seymour's. Of course you have heard?
Leonardo. Not another suicide?
Rinaldi. Not this time. I met her with her arm in a sling—it seems she fell in her automobile. Last year she had a cut over her eye—a fall, so I hear, with her horse. These accidents always happen when her husband is away from home. Two or three months suffice for the wounds to heal…
Leonardo. Physically and morally, I suppose?
Rinaldi. I confine myself to the truth which is official.
Leonardo. You are a very prudent woman. By the way, your color is particularly fine this morning. You are looking excessively well. I notice a certain austerity in your toilette…
Rinaldi. The change in my life. For a time, I was threatened with nervous prostration, but my physician prescribed a severe regimen. "Control yourself," he said. "Remember, neurasthenia is no longer in fashion. The reign of nerves is at an end; this season we shall have a renascence of muscle."
Leonardo. You are planning to be the Michael Angelo of this renascence?
Rinaldi. Fortunately, I had no difficulty in accommodating myself to the change. Heaven directed my feet to the path of salvation.
Leonardo. Without elephants?
Rinaldi. Don't recall those absurdities! I have put such trifles behind me. During one of my walks in the country, I stopped at the door of a Franciscan monastery. It occurred to me to go in. A pale-faced friar with a long, bushy beard was preaching. What a sermon that was! How he did preach about love, human and divine!
Leonardo. You could have preached upon the former with greater show of authority.
Rinaldi. You are laughing at me. I was converted upon the spot. Now, I hear him preach every afternoon. He is a second St. Francis. I am organizing a series of festivals for the restoration of the convent.
Leonardo. Poor saint! The temptations of St. Anthony will be nothing to his.
Rinaldi. You must not say that; you don't know him.
Leonardo. I know you.
Rinaldi. I accept the aspersions of the world as just penance for my sins; I could even wish to have people think worse of me. In pursuance of my plan, I am soliciting from door to door. Of course I may count upon you and Imperia? Will you send me one of your works for my kermess?
Leonardo. With the greatest of pleasure. Something appropriate—a Magdalen, perhaps. Would you prefer her before or after conversion?
Rinaldi. Only be sure that she has plenty of clothes.
Leonardo. Better have it before, then. Afterward, you recall in what state she ran through the wilderness—as you will be doing shortly, no doubt, though not through the wilderness.
Donina and Nunu re-enter.
Donina. [Running after Nunu] Don't you run away. Give me that letter! Give it to me, or…
Nunu. [Discovering the Countess] Hush! Be still! Don't you see?… You're always picking at me.
Donina. You always
Nunu. Let me alone, I tell you.
Rinaldi. [To Leonardo] Oh, don't bother to explain! Two protégés of Imperia's… Daphnis and Chloe? Or Paul and Virginia? This is the Garden of Love.
Leonardo. Of profane love; it is not for you.
Rinaldi. Will you tell Imperia of the object of my visit?
Leonardo. I shall announce your conversion.
Rinaldi. But merely as a preliminary; I am counting upon her.
Leonardo. She will certainly hear of it.
Rinaldi. These lovers are fascinating! Both children, of course… How old is the boy?
Leonardo. Countess, a ripe age.
The Countess and Leonardo go out.
Donina. Give me that letter! Give it to me!
Nunu. That's right. Scream, kick, cry, so that everybody can hear—you always do. Then when you get worse, they'll say it's my fault. Didn't I tell you it was for Tommy? Can't you read? What do you want me to say?
Donina. For Tommy, is it? Yes, the envelope's addressed to him, but maybe there's another letter inside. Maybe you've arranged—if you hadn't, you wouldn't have hidden while you were writing it. You would have told me. What do you care if I know what you write to Tommy?
Nunu. I wish you did.
Donina. I will, then. Give it to me!
Nunu. Let go! Let go!
Donina. Oh! I can't… I am choking. Oh!…
Nunu. Now you see.
Donina. My God!
Leonardo re-enters.
Leonardo. What is the matter with Donina?
Donina. Nothing… Nothing…
Nunu. She's crazy. She wants to read a letter I've written to a friend. I can't stand it any longer. Because you pay me you think it's easy—I have an easy life. But I don't. If it wasn't
Donina. They pay you? If it wasn't? What do you mean?
Leonardo. Nunu! Why do you tease Donina?
Donina. That's the only way he can enjoy himself—and I have given my life for him, yes, my soul! Because I am dying for him… It was for him that I killed him, it was for him that I lost my soul!
Leonardo. Donina! What have you done, you fool? [Aside to Nunu] Couldn't you wait?
Nunu. Wait? I've waited long enough. I can't stand it any more. So you'd like to read that letter? You want to know what I've written to my friend? Well, then, read it! Read it!
Donina. [Snatching the letter] Ah!
Nunu. Read it! It isn't my fault.
Leonardo. What does it say?
Donina. [Falling flat upon the ground] Mother of God!
Leonardo. What have you done? Donina! Donina!
Nunu. It wasn't my fault.
Imperia enters.
Leonardo. Imperia, Donina is dying.
Imperia. Donina! My Donina!
Donina. Leave me! Let me die. You have deceived me. Everybody has deceived me.
Imperia. What is the matter? This letter?… What is in this letter?
Donina. Leave me! Leave me!
Imperia. Ah! You have killed her.
Nunu. It wasn't my fault; she wanted to read it. I've stood it long enough. Let me go!
Imperia. Go? You forget that I have you in my parole, you coward! I thought that if I paid your price, I could make of you what I pleased, whether it was good or evil, but it was not the life you led that made you evil, it was your wicked heart, you low-born brother of Prince Florencio, incapable of pity or of love!
Donina. No, let him go. Why did you make him deceive me? Why did you deceive me, Nunu? You can go now; I forgive you. Don't wait here for me to die. They'll give you what they promised you. Give him his pay—he has pretended long enough. I know the truth now. I am dying… It is the only truth that he ever told me.
Imperia. You wrote that letter on purpose for her to see it. You knew that it would kill her.
Nunu. No. She did it herself.
Imperia. Leave this house at once! Don't you wait until Donina is no longer here to beg me to let you go! Go, go!
Nunu. Like this?
Leonardo. Don't you worry. You'll get your pay.
Leonardo and Nunu go out.
Donina. Why did you deceive me? When all my life is a lie, how can I live?
Imperia. Donina!
Donina. I am a hindrance to you; I know it. They want you there in that empire, that cursed empire with its Prince, its ice, and its snow. The white ship is there with its white sails, its men that are so pale… It has come to take you away to that empire, of which you have been dreaming so long.
Imperia. No, Donina, no! I shall be here always with you. The white ship will sail away like a white bird, but I shall still be here with you, always with you! Love is the only reality of our lives—I shall be here with you, always, always with you!
Donina. Yes, waiting for me to die—as he was.
Imperia. No, Donina, your life is my life!
Donina. Before the white ship sails away like a white bird, I, too, shall sail away forever. I shall not know it, but I shall be gone, like a shadow, like a cloud from the sea. I shall have passed out of your life.
Imperia. No, my Donina! Child of my heart, of my one, my only love! Like shadows all, all shall pass but love—that ripens and lives on.
Leonardo and Prince Michael enter.
Leonardo. Imperia… the Prince…
Imperia. Ah! Why do you come?
Prince Michael. You have sent no answer. I have waited all day.
Donina. He has come for you.
Imperia. I shall not go.
Donina. I know the truth. I tell you, you will kill me, with your lies—waiting here, always pretending, for me to die.
Imperia. What do you mean?
Donina. Promise me that you will not wait; you will go to-day. Or I shall kill myself, I will not ruin your life! Promise…
Imperia. Yes, I will go to-day. Leave me a little while. Leonardo, help Donina.
Leonardo. Donina!
Donina. No, it was nothing. I am better now... But I know that it is death.
Leonardo and Donina go out.
Prince Michael. Will you come?
Imperia. Yes.
Prince Michael. I should not have returned without you.
Imperia. Would you have renounced the throne?
Prince Michael. Why not? When it is difficult to live one's own life in peace, what must it be to rule an empire? Millions of human beings struggling to be happy, and depending for their happiness upon our precious laws!
Imperia. You have no right to talk like that. Would you renounce your divine heritage? The millions of your empire will never attain happiness through you. We are unable to assure the happiness even of those who are nearest to our hearts. Suffering and death are eternal; it is the will to overcome them that makes us immortal, yes, equal to God! You know nothing of life. Good and evil have no significance for you. They have for me. I have struggled, as many have struggled before, against poverty, against envy and shame, injustice and outrage, I have suffered and borne all, and I say to you now upon the steps of your throne: Do justly, love mercy, and your empire will be glorious among men.
Leonardo enters.
Leonardo. Donina is asleep. Thanks to an anodyne, she has fallen asleep. If you must go, it is better now. The parting would be too sad. I shall remain with her.
Imperia. Go? Leave her? No, no! I cannot.
Prince Michael. Bring her with you.
Imperia. It would kill her. No! No…
Leonardo. Death cannot delay in any case.
Imperia. But she is still alive! My place is with her. Can't you wait? Oh, this is horrible! Wait!
Leonardo. Leave her, your Highness. She will come, I promise you.
Prince Michael. Imperia, if you do not come before night, my yacht will sail, but without me. Instead, it will bear my abdication. In the morning I shall be here with you to resume our old life, and the Empire of Suavia will be lost to you—like a dream.
The Prince goes out.
Imperia. Leonardo, what shall I do? I am your idea, your Imperia. Breathe your spirit into me! What ought I to do?
Leonardo. You have fashioned your life by your will, and you know where it lies.
Imperia. My life is your ideal—my vision! I will go. But Donina— Do you say that she is asleep? I must see her.
Leonardo. Your courage will fail.
Imperia. I must see her! I must see her!
Leonardo. You will not go if you do. Imperia! You will not go! You will not go!
Imperia enters the house. Leonardo remains at the door and listens. Presently, Imperia reappears.
Leonardo. Imperia!…
Imperia. She is asleep. I kissed her upon the forehead, and she did not wake.
Leonardo. You kissed her upon the forehead?
Imperia. Leonardo, it is my duty to go, is it not?
Leonardo. Yes… Triumph, Imperia! It is the triumph of my ideal! But first, tell me—I must know it—when you kissed her forehead…
Imperia. Well?
Leonardo. Was it cold?
Imperia. Yes—if you must know. She was dead. And now death cannot hold me back. Do you wonder?
Leonardo. Your soul is great. I wonder and admire.
Imperia. To achieve anything in life we must subdue reality, and thrust aside its phantoms which confuse and hem us round, to follow the only reality, the flight of our witches' spirits as on Saturday Night they turn to their ideal—some toward evil, to be lost in its shadows forever like spectres of the night, others toward good, to dwell eternally in it, the children of love and of light. Good-by, Leonardo.
Leonardo. Good-by, Imperia.
Imperia. This is the kiss of the spirit which you gave me, grand as your ideal!
Curtain