 | Osbern and Ursyne |  |
36
ACT II
Scene: The great hall of the castle, showing entrance door at R. large staircase at back of stage. At L. a large fireplace, near it a narrow table spread with supper for two or three persons. At R. there is a high-backed carved-oak seat, long enough to seat several people. Torches are placed all round the hall, and garlands. Blanche and Jacqueline stand well forward. Enter Alan, an attendant.ALAN.
Haste! Haste! Go, call our mistress. Soon they come.
Soon shall we hear the trample of glad hoofs!
Where is our lady? Ill will it seem and rude
If she wait not with torch and outstretched arm
To greet the miraculous coming of her lord.
[He rushes out. At top of staircase Ursyne and Arlette appear, both carrying torches. Arlette
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BLANCHE.
Lo! she appears. Never was love like this
Death, e'er its final triumphing, is such.
JACQUELINE.
Yet mark Ursyne! As Lucifer she shines
Beside that perished light flickering in tears.
[Ursyne and Arlette have now reached the foot of the staircase.
ARLETTE.
Have I my torch, Ursyne?
URSYNE.
Aye, hold it straight,
As I do mine. Some little spark may fall
And burn into your cheek the crimson hue
Which joyous love strangely omits to paint there.
ARLETTE.
Stand close, Ursyne. Be near me when he comes.
If I am wordless, and I think I shall be,
Speak my just welcome. Say I honour him.
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A majesty so high. ... If, because I seem—
If ... O, my heart doth sicken, stir and droop.
I have done no wrong, and yet, a guilty wretch,
I see this, as it were, a judgment hall,
With yellow faces peering through the gloom,
And all around black shapes and questionings.
URSYNE.
Give me your hand. Poor leaf, it flutters here,
Vanquishing by its weakness my disdain,
Drawing from my stone heart th'imprisoned pity
I thought to keep there in its dungeon sealed.
Osbern enters.
OSBERN.
[Shouting.]
Carliol comes! Hail! my great cousin, hail!
Carliol comes to see the immovable world
Spin at his bidding! Miracles, no longer
Worked on the commonalty, are for him
Reserved. Arise, new Lazarus, from the grave!
Sweet bride, it is Carliol; lift up thine eyes.
Thou art a wife of youth! It is the Earl,
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To whom thy being, body and soul, belongs.
Flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone. The Law
Is grand and overwhelming on that point.
Ursyne, endorse my orthodoxy. Own
That I speak words of simple edification!
URSYNE.
With an entireness love might wish less full!
OSBERN.
Ah, women think of love, men are for doctrine!
I meant no more.
ARLETTE.
Would doctrine were enough!
[Arlette moves away.
OSBERN.
Hath she seen Eadric since this news of Hugh?
URSYNE.
No.
OSBERN.
Hath she sent word to him by messenger?
URSYNE.
No.
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I would spare youth such grief.
URSYNE.
Art thou not young?
OSBERN.
[With sarcasm.]
But have I grief? Am I not blessed and glad?
Do I long, in my folly, for one look,
One touch, one sight of creature that I love?
Do I love? can I love? Nay, I'm too wise—
My youth doth differ from all other youth!
URSYNE.
Ah, Osbern, on this night of desolate joy,
I need thy care, not thy philosophy!
OSBERN.
My care? Is that then something in thy life?
URSYNE.
Nay, not something—all!
[Carliol's voice is heard in the courtyard. The household form in two lines. Arlette and Ursyne stand together waiting to receive
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CARLIOL.
Heard without.]
Give God the glory!
[Enters.
Nay, nay, you will unman me. I am stronger
Before the enemy than with friends so kind.
[Count Geoffrey goes towards him, leading Arlette.
Arlette!
ARLETTE.
[Kissing his hand.]
I am Arlette, but greatly altered.
CARLIOL.
[Embracing her and drawing her apart.
This is Arlette, the child that I have dreamed of,
When retrospects were all the semblance left me
Of earth's delight: when, in an alien camp,
A foe's uncertain charity watched me sleep,
Thy shadow fell upon my measure of life,
Making it rosy as the blossoming may
In that fair garden where I walked with thee
First, and told my love. Dost thou remember?
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[Aside.]
At the last day much shall be pardoned me
For that I suffer now.
ARLETTE.
There is Ursyne.
CARLIOL.
Ursyne!
[Pauses, then goes towards her.
URSYNE.
My Lord.
[They look at each other without speaking.
OSBERN.
[Dashing forward.]
Now let us sup and dance!
These unimaginable moments lack
Th'appropriate language we would give to them.
For daily talk and excellent occasions
There is a stock of sentiments all wound
Like skeins of wool around our tongues. We hold them
Deliciously tinged for every use.
But, for an hour like this, what's there to say?
Light souls may leap; sound stomachs crave strong food
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Fearing to live, lest th'ineffable silence
Should be too swiftly broken by a word.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
[To Carliol.]
Admirable sense! much lurks in that scorned head!
CARLIOL.
Poor Osbern! I had thought to see thee wed!
'Tis not in woman to neglect thy heart.
And, never yet did men of our strong wills,
Our race, our age, our temper, live without love!
OSBERN.
There's time for love.
CARLIOL.
Such patience sings a song!
I know the tune. Husbands hum it often—
Under their breath—bachelors, who are fortunate,
Whistle it while they run to meet their joy!
[Turning to the company.
This rascal hath a wife hid in some nest,
Or else there is some virtuous, secret lady
For whose chaste soul it is a pleasure to pray!
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[Bowing.]
My cousin is too gracious in his wit.
CARLIOL.
[Bowing.]
Cousin, you may be saint or trespasser,
But either way a woman is the cause,
And, as a ship, she's crossed thy life's wild pool
And left her wake! Come, own!
OSBERN.
[Lightly.]
And if I own—
CARLIOL.
[Giving him his purse.
There's money for a gift.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
Most generous.
OSBERN.
[Returning it with mock courtesy.
Spend this in masses for thine own soul, Hugh!
I take thy jesting and thy cousinship
For they are rights of blood. But, when I woo,
My gifts must be my wrongs—contempt and poverty;
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My charm, my humours, and my gold, my grief!
Yet, for her love, I'll give a love so vast,
So constant, honest, true, and unremitting
That queens shall weep because they know it not,
And blame their courts because they teach it not,
And hate their wealth because wealth buys it not!
CARLIOL.
Plainly, our Osbern must be kept from queens
Or there shall be such scandal—
OSBERN.
[Laughing.]
Mere froth, cousin,
Mere braggadocio: I have no love,
I think I cannot feel: I am a grave,
A grave without an epitaph. Alas!
ARLETTE.
[In terror.]
Hark! hark! there's one that knocks.
ALAN.
[Peering out.]
Some stranger comes.
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[With a sardonic glance at Arlette.
To grace the festival with that scarce virtue
We call a neighbour's love!
CARLIOL.
Bid him come in.
ALAN.
He rides a gaunt white horse.
ARLETTE.
[Aside.]
Now let me steel
My spirit's broken wing. Up, up, faint love,
Thou hast a flight to fly past barbèd arrows.
ALAN.
[From the door.]
It is Sir Eadric, son of that Saxon chief,
Who, unbelieving in the Norman right,
Did foolishly rebel. They hanged him high.
I saw him swing for days. Can his son love us?
CARLIOL.
Still, let him enter.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
My lord, I know the knight,
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Impatient under law, despising all
Who are not Saxon born.
ALAN.
No good, I'll swear.
Will come from this admittance.
[With veiled sarcasm.]
Welcome, Sir Knight!
Eadric enters, and advances, bewildered.
ARLETTE.
[Going to meet him and speaking with a strong effort.
Welcome, Sir Eadric. Much we feel thy courtesy.
'Tis the acquittal from that debt of malice
Accumulated 'gainst us both by fortune.
And as beforetime there was enmity
Let there be blessedness now.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
You see us here,
Our senses all but overthrown with joy.
Thanksgiving makes us dumb. 'Tis well that God,
Who reads the secrets of all hearts, can weigh
The gratitude that surges in us all.
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Much He will weigh, be sure, and much requite!
EADRIC.
[Bitterly.]
My lord, I look upon this countenance,
Which, being too young to smile deceitfully,
Is to be read as well by men as angels!
OSBERN.
[To Ursyne.]
Not all are blind that feel the scourge of love.
Eyes washed by grief lose beauty but dust also!
URSYNE.
[To Eadric.]
Sir Eadric may not know the instant cause
Of our contentment.
EADRIC.
This only do I know,
That where there are fair women there will be
Causes enough, without intemperate wonder,
To drown men in perdition.
ARLETTE.
Good Sir Eadric,
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Carliol, whom we thought was foully slain,
Hath come again.
[The sound of the harpists tuning up is heard from the next room.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
And it is their betrothal,
Doubly insisted on, that we celebrate.
[Servants bring in dishes and place them on table.
ARLETTE.
[Staggering toward Ursyne.]
Ursyne!
URSYNE.
She hath stood too long.
EADRIC.
I shall recount
This day in my joy's calendar!
CARLIOL.
[Going to Eadric.]
Sir Eadric,
In time to come we'll speak of this event,
Saying, The Saxon prince conquered unkindness,
And, by that act, did make us bondsmen ever
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Come, true chivalry's king! Old wine shall give
Ripe feeling to new friendship!
ARLETTE.
[To Eadric.]
Will you not come?
OSBERN.
What sly excuse shall be accepted for him?
Pray, sirs, lead on. We, lacking brides, have hunger.
Our uninspired bodies crave some food
More real than beauty
For indeed a man possesses most surely
such good as he can put into his mouth and
swallow. The rest is all appearance, phantasm,
and the means to certain damnation.
Lead on! Lead on!
EADRIC.
[To Arlette.]
Madam, I'll sup to-night, and this brave welcome
Will make my hard farewell a kind of grace.
[Arlette goes to the table between Eadric and Carliol. Count Geoffrey makes a sign to Ursyne, which she disregards. Osbern goes
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ALAN.
[To Osbern.]
“Will make my hard farewell a kind of grace.”
Blackish words! Arrogancy and desperation
run unexpiated in his veins. Take good
heed! We swung his father high. Ah, it is
silliness to pass a wolf because one is hunting
foxes. Take good heed!
[He goes to help at the table.
OSBERN.
The Earl doth wear the proud apparel of glory
As though he had digested it! This seems
To have enriched his bones, glistened his eye,
And filled his soul with satisfaction's balm.
URSYNE.
Thine eyes oft see that which thine heart would veil!
OSBERN.
His glance—his kingly strut—his glory to God!
Such are the men that women hang their souls on
As votive trifles offered to the Highest.
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Laughs, songs, smiles, blushes—all the armoury
That puts weak flesh to torment: all the love
That purifies our natural baseness.
Trifles, which, made for heaven, may merit hell,
By putting their whole trust on things like that!
O, 'tis a poor affair! Poverty most sick!
Why dost thou love him, Ursyne? Thy clear soul
Hath immortality for better use
Than this cold mountebank's pleasure. Did'st thou not see
His tenderness to Arlette?
URSYNE.
Could one be rough
To singing linnet frightened from her song?
OSBERN.
Could one not swear, watching his deepening gaze,
The lowering of his voice, the arm's fond crook,
That he had never loved a maid save Arlette,
That his one thought, e'en ere her birth, through years
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Had woman virtue, comeliness, delight,
Away from Arlette. Hypocrite! Perjured! False!
URSYNE.
You do him wrong. Is there a man would feign
He had loved one—one only all his days?
That fool I have not met.
OSBERN.
This fool doth say so!
This fool must mean it too. His constancy
Is thought his prime misfortune, but I know
'Tis the sole good he hath. Ah! doubt it not.
Why dost thou love that, Ursyne?
[Pointing to Carliol.
URSYNE.
Why dost thou
Love me? If I could give thee reasons, Osbern,
I might, by speaking them, perceive their frailty.
There is some cure whilst one can pick and argue.
The worst I know: that is the worst of all!
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Which, to my locked, enchanted sight had passed
For beauties in the earliest, mad, glad fever,
Then might I say it was the erring shadow
Of my own fantasy that I had loved,
No man at all, no soul, no great ambition.—
But, 'tis not so. I see the one thou seest.
The glance—the kingly strut—the glory to God,
All this I see. Yet, there is something more
That hath escaped your jealousy, but not
My heart. O, there's a winged spirit in him,
That, when our eyes may meet, looks o'er the brink
Of his humanity. This calls to mine,
And, as the sun draws vapour, so I rise
To that irresistible force.
OSBERN.
Alas, poor vapour! Alas! foul, trumpery sun,
Lit up by artifice to shine at festivals
On women! O, vile lier in wait for dreams!
Never was talk so bitter-sweet of souls
But soon the creature fell with bodily hurt
Into a deep abyss. So help me God!
I'll save thee if I die for it!
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Osbern,
Thy death would be my loss, and not my safety.
OSBERN.
[Muttering.]
Shall man do less than he ought, or venture less,
Because Almighty God doth as he wills?
URSYNE.
Dear, we talk too long. I think they call me.
OSBERN.
I hear no call.
URSYNE.
Surely ...
[Ursyne rises as though drawn by a compelling force and goes to the table. Osbern looks at her.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
How now, singers!
[Singers come forward. There is a song; Osbern remains on the settle, watching moodily the group at the table; Muriel sidles up to him at the conclusion of the song.
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Sir, that's a sweet air.
OSBERN.
And the sentiment?
MURIEL.
Sweet! [Pauses.]
I was loved once.
OSBERN.
Who was he?
MURIEL.
He died stone blind, and so he loved me
till the end.
OSBERN.
Madam, some have passions of the mind;
others have passions of the body. It is as
vain to make a virtue of the one as it is
blasphemous to despise the other. All power
comes from God, whether in the flesh or in
the spirit; yea, even the power to work evil.
For out of evil itself comes nought but weakness,
rottenness, destruction.
MURIEL.
Sir, if all knights wooed thus, the world
would be free of much temptation!
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Listen, poor sparrow. I have really a great
and terrible passion, but 'tis a spiritual madness,
an intoxication of the mind and nerves.
I have sunk into a well of unappeasable longings,
which, not fixed for any mitigation in
this world, have fastened on my soul like the
desire, hunger, and thirst for death and deliverance.
MURIEL.
O, sir, is all this for me?
OSBERN.
God forbid! What, should I offer thee
so meagre a gift as my eternal perdition?
Timid dove! Thou must learn men better.
There's a love can find its one expression in
sympathy and all its happiness in understanding.
This do I feel for thee. Adieu!
MURIEL.
'Tis a sad case. He is not sick; this is
sorrow of heart.
[There is a dance, in which all join. At its conclusion the company scatter; Osbern and Ursyne come down stage.
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Thou hast danced well.
URSYNE.
Thy step suits.
OSBERN.
Mine?
URSYNE.
With thine.
'Tis the first time, I think, we two have danced,
Or heard, together, music tuned for joy.
Yet, of my life, this is the darkest night,
The longest, saddest, weariest, last night.
OSBERN.
Wherefore last night?
URSYNE.
Day hath deserted me.
OSBERN.
Day comes at dawn.
URSYNE.
I shall not see the dawn.
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Art thou afraid?
URSYNE.
Of what?
OSBERN.
Of loving me.
URSYNE.
What meanest thou?
OSBERN.
This is false loyalty.
URSYNE.
You hurt my hand.
OSBERN.
I thought it was a flame!
URSYNE.
[Smiling.]
Wouldst put it out?
OSBERN.
Nay; I would burn myself.
URSYNE.
[Musing.]
And we have danced.
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As any lovers might!
URSYNE.
I forgot all.
OSBERN.
I lived.
URSYNE.
It was the harp
Bewitched us so.
OSBERN.
No harp!
URSYNE.
Harps may do much.
OSBERN.
Hath love less power?
URSYNE.
Not less ... [Confused.]
I know not.
Let us but say we have been happy once.
OSBERN.
And is that all?
URSYNE.
It is the very world,
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OSBERN.
Happiness, once!
URSYNE.
Remembrance for all time.
OSBERN.
And then, despair!
URSYNE.
Then, waiting quietly.
OSBERN.
We were not happy once—for I was sad,
Thou dost constrain thine heart and torture mine.
This is not gladness; never think it is,
Nor ever think 'twas either harp or dance
Which gave thy face the perfume of the rose
And something fairer than the rose's flush.
This is love's miracle when love meets love!
URSYNE.
I met no love: it is too far from me.
OSBERN.
Need that have been?
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God saw that there was need!
OSBERN.
He sent me near.
URSYNE.
Thou art not he I loved.
OSBERN.
And yet one day—
URSYNE.
It was an Autumn day.
You found me sleeping, and you watched me long
Until I spoke and called you.
OSBERN.
In your dream!
I answered you, and you stretched out your hand,
And said, ‘Thy love is stronger than our fate,
Thy spirit, when I die, shall join with mine,
And keep it fast for ever. This I know!’
URSYNE.
O strange and faithful words! That dream was true.
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Fate is strong ...
URSYNE.
As life.
OSBERN.
Love hath no master.
And if I win ...
URSYNE.
I would not have thee fail!
OSBERN.
Tell me thy thought.
URSYNE.
Pure love doth conquer hell.
OSBERN.
I'll strive with ...
URSYNE.
What?
OSBERN.
With death and hell for thee.
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And never tire?
OSBERN.
Love tires not.
URSYNE.
Promise this.
OSBERN.
Hast thou a doubt?
URSYNE.
O, promise this to God!
OSBERN.
I promise it.
URSYNE.
Thy love shall save us both.
OSBERN.
Is there sore peril threatening us, Ursyne?
Tell me thy thought.
URSYNE.
Thy love shall save us both!
[She moves away. The bell is heard ringing for Matins.
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[Rising.]
Now prayer and praise give unction to our peace.
This holy hour will pour its consecration
On hopes so long deferred, fulfilled at last.
[He goes out, and all follow him into chapel, beyond where there should be an iron screen concealed by a curtain, which, being drawn back, may show the Monks passing through. Ursyne is following the rest, when Carliol intercepts her. Osbern escapes up the staircase, where he crouches. Ursyne waits for Carliol to speak.
CARLIOL.
Ursyne! I cannot pray. In agony
All is sensation. My part shall be to kiss
Lips that shall speak to me no more this night
Till they have learnt some kindness, and are less
Like scented alabaster, cut to tempt,
Not to be tempted.
[He embraces her.
Ah, my very self,
Long have I ached and fretted for this nearness,
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E'en than th'intangible breeze that fans great storms.
[She tears herself away.
Ah, not so cold! Your snow puts out my fire,
Is this a way to win love or to keep it?
URSYNE.
I had no way of winning or of keeping
That which I gave to thee—my faithful love.
Faithful it is and love it is. What else—
It would bereave thee—couldst thou know—to learn.
When I did think thee dead, the woman in me
Was all distinguished. Hast thou not seen lights
Burn brightly for a while, then, suddenly,
After some futile waving in the wind,
Go out in utter darkness? I was so.
CARLIOL.
I'd sooner drink the wine of the condemned
Than guess the saltness of thy tears. But look,
We waste the moments men may hardly buy
At grim Eternity's unchangeable price.
A kiss—though nothing less or more—a kiss!
A brief close union of our arms.—My life
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Much love. ...
[He embraces her.
URSYNE.
But that is perfidy, not love!
CARLIOL.
Hast thou cast off all pity for me, Ursyne?
URSYNE.
Would that I had!
CARLIOL.
God put into my portion
Certain advantages, which, falsifying
Their promises, have turned into calamity.
Vigour, high station, tastes, desires, aims
Pitched far above my compeers; but, to mar all—
I was betrothed, while yet a senseless boy,
Careful of beasts and dogs—amerced in muscle,
A fellow most detestable, small doubt—
URSYNE.
Ah, never!
CARLIOL.
Be that as it may. I was
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Nought do I urge against Arlette.
URSYNE.
You could not.
CARLIOL.
God save her—no! 'Tis innocence on earth
Her eyes do swim in awe. It thinks, I swear,
It has for husband Michael the Archangel!—
No smaller prize! I would not have her make
An idol of me, Ursyne!
URSYNE.
Let us pray not.
CARLIOL.
[With meaning.]
Sweetheart, there is some future for us still.
URSYNE.
Aye, there's a future.
[A pause.
CARLIOL.
Therefore let no gloominess
Rob thy enchantments of their potency.
Weave all around this burning heart thy charms,
And Carliol the dauntless will be wax
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URSYNE.
[Looks at him for some seconds before she speaks.
My lord, this may not be.—What good I do
(And even such as I may still do good)
Must be by faltering prayers and not by witchcraft.
What thy reported death did to my love
This last hath well accomplished for my body.
Shadows already seem to me like sisters.
I'll come again.
[He makes a protest.
I have forgiven thee.
I'll come again.
[Ursyne goes into the chapel.
[Osbern waits till she is out of sight, then creeps down the staircase and confronts Carliol.
OSBERN.
O, we are kin indeed!
Whilst you are traitor, I am eavesdropping.
I have no land, no patent of nobility,
But I will make thee come into thy kingdom
By shorter road than thou hast travelled yet!
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What! dost thou play the madman in my presence?
David, forsooth, before the wicked foe!
As thou hast David's wit, show David's heart.
He loved fair women!
OSBERN.
Aye!
CARLIOL.
When he repented,
'Twas not for fugitive, effeminate thoughts,
But for some certain deeds which prophets censure,
Philosophers define, and men commit!
I love that lady. When the mad hour comes
That preludes all true penitence, I'll beg
Thine honourable absence. Virtue hath grace!
[Osbern springs at him and strikes him to the heart with his knife.
OSBERN.
Fierce glittering snake in my dark wilderness!
Evil am I, and evil too art thou!
Thy love is cruel—mine is but a curse.
From hell thou cam'st—to hell thou shalt return!
[Strikes again.
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END OF ACT II.
| Osbern and Ursyne | |