The Spagnoletto: 'While I paint, all else escapes my sense''

By Emma Lazarus

Emma Lazarus was born in New York City on July 22nd, 1849, into a large Sephardic Jewish family, the fourth of seven children.

Privately educated by tutors from an early age, she studied American and British literature as well as several languages, including German, French, and Italian. As a young child she developed an interest in poetry, writing her first verses at age eleven.

The Civil War propelled her verse forward and her collection ‘Poems and Translations’, written between the ages of fourteen and seventeen was released in 1867. A further volume appeared four years later as did recognition from both home and abroad.

During the next decade, in which ‘Phantasies’ and ‘Epochs’ were written, her poems appeared in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine and Scribner's Monthly.

As well as her prose productions, including ‘The Spagnoletto’ (1876), a tragedy and ‘The Dance to Death’, about the burning of Jews during the Black Death, she was also an expert translator of von Goethe, Heine and of Hebrew poets of the medieval period. These experiences helped develop a growing activism on behalf of Jews displaced by pogroms, prejudice and the like and she founded, worked and volunteered in organisations helping Jewish people as they came to America.

Perhaps her greatest contribution though is via the bronze plague affixed to the Statue of Liberty bearing her poem ‘The New Colossus’ and the immortal lines ‘Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free….’

Her last published work in 1887, "By the Waters of Babylon: Little Poems in Prose", furthers her claim to amongst the foremost poets in American literature.

Emma Lazarus returned to New York City seriously ill after a long trip to Europe. She died two months later, on the 19th November 1887. She was 38.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stage Door
• Release date: Oct 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781835471883

Book preview

The Spagnoletto by Emma Lazarus

Emma Lazarus was born in New York City on July 22nd, 1849, into a large Sephardic Jewish family, the fourth of seven children.

Privately educated by tutors from an early age, she studied American and British literature as well as several languages, including German, French, and Italian.  As a young child she developed an interest in poetry, writing her first verses at age eleven.

The Civil War propelled her verse forward and her collection ‘Poems and Translations’, written between the ages of fourteen and seventeen was released in 1867.  A further volume appeared four years later as did recognition from both home and abroad.

During the next decade, in which ‘Phantasies’ and ‘Epochs’ were written, her poems appeared in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine and Scribner's Monthly.

As well as her prose productions, including ‘The Spagnoletto’ (1876), a tragedy and ‘The Dance to Death’, about the burning of Jews during the Black Death, she was also an expert translator of von Goethe, Heine and of Hebrew poets of the medieval period.  These experiences helped develop a growing activism on behalf of Jews displaced by pogroms, prejudice and the like and she founded, worked and volunteered in organisations helping Jewish people as they came to America. 

Perhaps her greatest contribution though is via the bronze plague affixed to the Statue of Liberty bearing her poem ‘The New Colossus’ and the immortal lines ‘Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free….’

Her last published work in 1887, By the Waters of Babylon: Little Poems in Prose, furthers her claim to amongst the foremost poets in American literature.

Emma Lazarus returned to New York City seriously ill after a long trip to Europe.  She died two months later, on the 19th November 1887.  She was 38.

Index of Contents

THE SPAGNOLETTO

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

SCENE

TIME

ACT I

SCENE I

SCENE II

ACT II

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

ACT III

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

ACT IV

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

SCENE VI

ACT V

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

THE SPAGNOLETTO

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

DON JOHN of AUSTRIA.

JOSEF RIBERA, the Spagnoletto.

LORENZO, noble young Italian artist, pupil of Ribera.

DON TOMMASO MANZANO.

LUCA, servant to Ribera.

A GENTLEMAN.

FIRST LORD.

SECOND LORD.

MARIA-ROSA, daughter to Ribera.

ANNICCA, daughter to Ribera, and wife to Don Tommaso.

FIAMETTA, servant to Maria-Rosa.

ABBESS.

LAY-SISTER.

FIRST LADY.

SECOND LADY.

Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen, Servants.

SCENE

During the first four acts, in Naples; latter part of the fifth act, in Palermo.

TIME

About 1655.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The studio of the Spagnoletto. RIBERA at work before his canvas. MARIA seated some distance behind him; a piece of embroidery is in her hands, but she glances up from it incessantly toward her

father with impatient movements.

MARIA

Father!

[RIBERA, absorbed in his work, makes no reply; she puts by her embroidery, goes toward him and kisses him gently. He starts, looks up at her, and returns her caress.

RIBERA

My child!

MARIA

Already you forget,

Oh, heedless father!  Did you not promise me

To lay aside your brush to-day at noon,

And tell me the great secret?

RIBERA

Ah, 't is true,

I am to blame.  But it is morning yet;

My child, wait still a little.

MARIA

'T is morning yet!

Nay, it was noon one mortal hour ago.

All patience I have sat till you should turn

And beckon me.  The rosy angels breathe

Upon the canvas; I might sit till night,

And, if I spake not, you would never glance

From their celestial faces.  Dear my father,

Your brow is  moist, and yet your hands are ice;

Your very eyes are tired—pray, rest awhile.

The Spagnoletto need no longer toil

As in the streets of Rome for beggars' fare;

Now princes bide his pleasure.

RIBERA [Throws aside his brush and palette]

Ah, Maria,

Thou speak'st in season.  Let me ne'er forget

Those days of degradation, when I starved

Before the gates of palaces.  The germs

Stirred then within me of the perfect fruits

Wherewith my hands have since enriched God's world.

Vengeance I vowed for every moment's sting—

Vengeance on wealth, rank, station, fortune, genius.

See, while I paint, all else escapes my sense,

Save this bright throng of phantasies that press

Upon my brain, each claiming from my hand

Its immortality.  But thou, my child,

Remind'st me of mine oath, my sacred pride,

The eternal hatred lodged within my breast.

Philip of Spain shall wait.  I will not deign

To add to-day the final touch of life

Unto this masterpiece.

MARIA

So! that is well.

Put by the envious brush that separates

Father from daughter.  Now you are all mine own.

And now—your secret.

RIBERA

Mine?  'T is none of mine;

'T is thine, Maria.  John of Austria

Desires our presence at his ball to-night.

MARIA

Prince John?

RIBERA

Ay, girl, Prince John.  I looked to see

A haughty joy dance sparkling in thine eyes

And burn upon thy cheek.  But what is this?

Timid and pale, thou droop'st thy head abashed

As a poor flower-girl whom a lord accosts.

MARIA

Forgive me.  Sure, 't is you Don John desires

The prince of artists—

RIBERA

Art!  Prate not of art!

Think'st thou I move an artist 'midst his guests?

As such I commune with a loftier race;

Angels and spirits are my ministers.

These do I part aside to grace his halls;

A Spanish gentleman—and so, his peer.

MARIA

Father, I am not well; my head throbs fast,

Unwonted languor weighs upon my