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Yolanda of Cyprus

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Год написания книги
2017
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Fitting revenge through Camarin of Paphos,

Your lover, you shall clasp him openly

Before all of Lusignan.

Yolanda. No; no, no!

The thought of it is soil!.. Rather … his death!

Renier. What, what?

Berengere. My lord, she knows not what she says.

The unaccustomed wind of these ill hours

Has torn tranquillity from her and reason.

Yolanda (realising). Yes, as she says – tranquillity and reason.

[Strains to smile.

These hours of ill!

Renier. I'll send her Camarin.

[Goes, looking steadfastly back.

Yolanda (turning, then, to Berengere).

His mood and mien – that tremor in his throat,

Unfaltering. I fear him.

Berengere. Life is fear.

No step was ever taken in the world

But from a brink of danger, or in flight

From happiness whose air is ever sin.

It sickens me.

Yolanda. Mother!

Berengere. Nothing; a pain

Here in my breast.

[Sits.

Yolanda. And it is all through him

Who as a guest came pledged into this house.

Came with the chivalry and manly show

Of reverence and grace, that he too well

Has learnt in cunning lands and used to lure.

[Camarin appears from garden.

Ah, and he seeks us now! unwhelmed of it!

Ready of step, impassive, cold! And see —

[Camarin bows forcedly.

A flawless courtesy! as of a king!

Can he not smile too on his handiwork?

Our days were merciful and he has made

Each moment's beat a blow upon the breast.

Honour was here and innocence lies now

A sacrifice that pain cannot consume. —

Camarin. Or death.

Yolanda. Then have you not, unshameable!

A help for it or healing? you who know

So well the world and its unwonted ways!

A man would have, a man.

Camarin. And I am barren.

My brain an arid waste under remorse.

Only one thing it yields – the love of her

My love has made unholy.
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