Begins! and lady Yolanda still awaits
Heedless, though Lord Amaury's desperate,
As is the Paphian!.. They near!.. The curtains!
[Goes to door and draws them back. As she does so the chant swells louder. Then the cortège enters– Moro, the acolytes with tapers; Berengere on a litter, Amaury, Renier, Vittia, the women, Hassan, and last Yolanda. The litter, Amaury by it, comes to the altar; the chanting ceases.
Moro (as Amaury bows, shaken).
No moan or any toil of grief be here
Where we have brought her for sainted appeal.
But in this holy place until the tomb
Let her find rest.
Amaury. Set down the bier.
[It is placed.
Moro. Lone rest!
Then bliss Afar for ever!
Amaury (rises). Be it so!
[Turning; brokenly.
But unto any, mother, who have brought thee
Low to this couch, be never ease again.
To any who have put thy life out, never!
But in them be the burning that has seemed
To shrivel thee – whether with pain or fear!
And be appeaseless tears,
Salt tears that rust the fountain of the heart.
[Sinks to a seat. A pause.
Moro. My son, relentless words.
Amaury (up again). To the relentless!
Moro. God hear you not!
Amaury. Then is He not my God.
Moro. Enough, enough. (To the rest.) But go and for her soul
Freight all of you this tide of night with prayer.
Amaury. Never!
Moro. I bid.
Amaury. And I forbid those who
Have prized her not!
For though nought's in the world but prayer may move,
Still but the lips that loved her
Should for her any sin beseeching lift.
[Looking at Yolanda.
They and no other!
Yolanda. It is well.
Amaury. Not one.
Yolanda. Then, mother —
[Goes to bier.
Amaury. That name again?
Yolanda. While I have breath.
[Fixedly.
Yes, though you hold me purgeless of that sin
Only the pale archangels may endure
Trembling to muse on!
Or though yon image of the Magdalen.
Whose alabaster broke amid her tears