From A Play in VerseBy Hugo Von HofmannsthalTranslated from the German by Harriet Betty Boas.

Falsely, quite falsely, you interpret now My silence. How can I tell you who might know?— But if you think that I am one of those Who hides behind her hireling's her joy, You know me ill. Now note—note and take heed. Once may a woman be—yes, once she may Be as I was for twelve weeks—once she may be If she had found no need of veil before, All veiled, protected by her own great pride As by a shield—she once may rend that veil, Feel her cheeks crimson, burning in the sun. Horrible she, who twice could such a thing! I'm not of these—that surely you must know. Who knew?—Who guessed? I never hid my thoughts? Your brother must have known—just as you knew, Your brother just as you. Ask him, ask him! That day—'twas in July, Saint Magdalen Francesco Chieregati's wedding day— That nasty thing upon your hand came then, Came on that day. Well, I remember too We dined out in the arbor—near the lake, And he sat next to me, while opposite Your brother sat. Then passing me the fruit, Palla did hold the heavy gold dish Of luscious peaches so that I might take. My eyes were fastened on his hands—I longed To humbly kiss his hands, there,—before all. Your brother—he's malicious and no fool— Caught this my glance, and must have guessed my thought. He paled with anger.—Sudden came a dog, A tall dark greyhound brushed his slender head Against my hand—the left one by my side,— Your stupid brother kicked in furious rage With all his might, the dog—only because He could not with a shining dagger pierce Me and my lover. I but looked at him. Caressed and stroked the dog, and had to laugh Why whosoever saw me walk would know! Walked I not differently? Did not I ride Ecstatically? I could look at you And at your brother and this gloomy house And feel as light as air, floating in space. The myriad trees seemed all to come to me Filled with the sunlight dancing toward me, All paths were open in the azure air— Those sunlit paths were all the roads to him. To start with fright was sweet—he might appear From any corner, any bush or tree— What had I done? What had I done, you ask?

Dianora Monologue from A Play in VerseBy Hugo Von HofmannsthalTranslated from the German

Rehearse Dianora's monologue