University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

The Wood.
Enter Almund and Cara.
Cara.
My dear is come, is come!

[They clasp in a long, silent embrace.]
Almund.
O little love,
My woman, pre-elected from the hour
I was conceived a man, yet lost, forbidden!
All the great, germinating force that pushes
A leaf-bud forth has bounded to your mouth
To form that kiss.

Cara.
Down in my heart it lay,
Panting to reach you all this long, long while,
My king, my lover.

Almund.
Ah, to join these names,
As this frank voice is able!—By and bye
I'll face the severing hour. God, we may hold
For just a moment what we may not keep,
And thus conceive our sacrifice.

Cara.
But listen:
I ran and gathered the white, blinking sallows,
The shoots of cuckoo-pint, and fallen cones,
To dress my fountain ready.

Almund.
Is it true
You put these dabbling bunches round the spring
For me? Then they are dearer than the banners
That hailed me king.

Cara
[stooping over the spurges].
I told you he would come,
You tiny flowers, and you would not believe;
Now look at him, and love him. You dear man,
I wonder what I had to think about
Before I saw you. Now I have no time
For sleep; I dare not go to bed at all,
Lest I should find it altered in my heart
When I awake; and sometimes in my bosom
I lose all breath, and dare not think of you,
The world is grown so large.

Almund.
It is the freedom
Of love, that breaks all puny bonds, and rushes
Clean through our being to God's crystal sea.
Kiss me again.

Cara.
But it is not good-bye.
I put my musk-pot in the window-sill,
And all is sweet and warm there in the sun
For hours; and I must do this every day,
If the young plant's to thrive. Again to-morrow,
And every day for ever you will come;
It never will be ended. All the birds
Are singing in me, and the crowds of flowers
Are tossing in my joy. You must not watch me
As you were putting by this happiness,
To think about hereafter. Thousand kisses
Keep growing for my lover; up they spring,
And I could dance to feel them.

Almund.
Little mouth,
Your love were perfect if it kissed to death;
But I am strong; all voices wail in me
I cannot die. The glory of this moment
Is fearful, for it shows how black and small
We are in common life, when Memory
Makes gossip in our ears. Shall she be called
The mother of sweet poetry who fetters
All aspiration, drags us down to earth,
And makes us mortal, petty, scrupulous,
Slaves, cowards, fatalists? I must remember
Hubert will soon be here. Oh, Cara, Cara,
Did he not tell you that I am a king,
And you must never love me?

Cara.
Your false friend,
He said you had a lady.

Almund.
It is true.
Oh, what is hell but truth—a fiery candour!

[Breaks from her.]
Cara.
Why do you cast me out into the wind?
You were my lover. Are you now the king,
The cruel king?

Almund
[throwing himself on the ground and burying his face in the grass].
I cannot bear to hear
The foot-fall of her voice. God! she will come,
And bleat for me;—lambs wander over graves,
And stop, and bleat, and shake their woolly heads.—
I will be buried from her sight.

Cara.
It hurts
Too much to leave off loving suddenly.
That is an early wasp,—they used to sting me
When they settled on my arm. How hard I feel!
I knew it must be terrible to freeze,
And broke the brook—it ached so underneath;
I know now how it ached. I must not love him!
I shall not any more: it is as certain
As that no breath can issue from the dead.
[Shaking Almund.]
Turn back your face. Oh, you are old and changed;
And yet you look as you would live for ever.
I cannot understand.

Almund.
You raised my head
Too soon, before the penal change was over;
It was the moment of my sentence, dearest,
And it was more than I could bear to see
The buds, the ruby twigs, the darting light,
And your loved, early face.

Cara.
You have put death
Far off. . . . I feel that I can never reach
So many miles away. I'm but a child,
And you have left me nothing.

Almund.
God, I know
The pain to come is cruel, brutal, vile.

Cara.
You do not know; you took the cup of water,
And gave it to your friend. You do not love me.

Almund.
I love you far beyond all kissing's pace,
Faster than thought, with every breath I draw.

Cara.
Then keep me, keep me!

Almund.
Little life, I cannot.
There is a lady, who for many years
Has loved me, not like you, but with affection
As strong as the unswerving confidence
She places in my honour.

Cara.
And you love her?

Almund.
Nay, Cara, not a whit. I do not love her,
Yet she shall be my wife.

Cara.
Poor lady!

Almund.
Cara,
If you can feel for her who keeps me from you,
Who severs us, a loving, unloved woman,—
Be yet a little kinder still, and pity
The man who cherishes, and longs for you,
My noble Hubert, who with thoughtless ardour,
As delicate as rash, has yet a way
Of touching like a nurse. My little, wounded,
Piteous Cara, let him take your hand,
And shelter you from loneliness.

Cara.
Oh, cruel!
So base you spoil my love, you hurt it all,
Till I must cry for shame. I am too young,
Too mere a slip, to understand your wishes;
But they are cruel, cruel, and so wicked
That you will talk in vain.

Almund
[aside].
Her chaste resentment
Lashes me like a wind.—Oh, Cara, Cara,
If I can yield to Hubert my dear passion,
My whole delight in you, while you, for me,
Will to my friend resign yourself in marriage,
Shall we not be united? He will join
Together our best goodness on the day
He marries you and owes you to my loss.
Could you but understand!

Cara.
It is too bitter—
All that you say; it falls like flakes of snow.
I'm numb and hopeless, and my merry joys
Are dropping off for ever.

Almund.
O my God!
Can it be rightly done—within her blood
To kill the blessèd life, and make its promise
A scattered vanity? Yet Hubert comes,
And Millicent awaits me, and the power
To gather joy unmerited belongs
In no-wise to my nature. Will you then
Receive from me my friend to be your husband,
To comfort you, to foster? Come, the tears
Are staunched at last; but do not clasp your hands,
And knot them like the little oak above.
Speak to me, Cara.

Cara.
I am humble now.

Almund.
What do you mean?

Cara.
I will obey you, king.

Almund.
How hard and cold your words!

Cara.
For I am dead,
Dead to the spring, and hope, and mating-time.

Almund.
Both blasted, both deformed, God looking on,
And April in the earth! We each are spoiled
For nature's stainless function; but the blight
Is deeper in my girl; for I am strengthened
By bonds and conscience. Hubert comes at last.

[Enter Hubert at a distance.]
Cara
[springing up at Almund].
I'll kill myself unless you promise me,
I'll curse you like a ghost unless you ask him
To let me give you water once a year,
To let me grasp your face into my being,
And hear your wintry voice. I'll curse your wife,
Your friend, and all you love so preciously—
Listen, you king, I'll curse them all unless
You make him vow.

Almund.
Hubert will grant this favour.
[Aside.]
Then there will be one day of resurrection,
One day the grave-clothes will be tenantless—
Oh, heavenly condition!

Hubert.
Have you won,
My Almund?

Almund.
She is yours.

Hubert.
Then come to me,
My king-wooed joy! Almund, she does not stir;
You misinterpret.

Almund.
No; she does but pause
To hear me ask a boon—that you and I
Shall meet her once a year upon the spot
Where first we saw her, by the creeping rill,
And she shall give to me alone a cup
Of the slow-dropping water. Will you grant
This wish of hers and mine? It is some comfort
For her new-aching grief. You understand—
I have been harsh and lofty.

Hubert.
This is little,
A thing scarce worth the asking from a friend,
Who loves you, and who owes you everything,
Even his treasured bride. My Cara, rise,
Come to my arms. I do not ask a smile,
Until we know each other, and are friends
Well-learnt in love. Say, with your woodland voice,
That you are mine.

Cara.
I'll marry you.

Hubert.
Dear child,
You startle me; your voice has lost its tones
Of waking bird-songs; if indeed you care
No tittle for me, I may pine with grief,
But I will leave you happy.

Cara.
Do not go;
Make me your wife.

Hubert.
God witness that I will;
For I have loved these tiny lips, these eyes,
Thrilling with shadowed impulse, and a light
Of new-year sunbeams, loved them hour by hour,
Day after day, have thought of them at dawn,
At noon, and eve.

Almund
[aside.]
I loved her so entirely
I never saw her beauties one by one.

Cara.
When I am married . . .
I will be good and gentle.

Hubert.
Darling!

Cara.
Do not
Believe I shall be disobedient.

Hubert.
I never fear it, and your waywardness
Is lovelier than submission. Put aside
This anxious scanning of your new estate.

Cara.
I will be meek and dutiful.

Hubert.
Hush, hush!
You mind me of a bird whose nest is stolen:
An anguish of re-iteration pours
Sharp on the air. Do not be frightened, Cara,
To leave your home. My friend has given me
This tract of trees, and a lone castle near;
There shall you dwell, and freely as of yore
Shall haunt the spring, and pluck the shady flowers.
A piercing sunbeam strikes across your face;
Trust me, my love, we'll have no formal manners,
But roam the forest, you a woodland countess,
And I a rustic earl. Come, I have won
Your father, while the king was winning you.
You are my bride: bring with you all your graces,
And do not fear men's looks more than the glance
Of jays or critic squirrels; let your movements
Keep their alert caprices, and your voice
Its acrid key, and sudden songfulness.
Be all you were, and be my own besides,
But do not change.

Cara.
I will be good.

Hubert.
Come, come!
No more of that, it pains me. Like a child,
Kiss me to heal the hurt.

Cara.
I will.

Hubert.
The flavour,
The fine, elastic pressure of these lips
Is gone; but I forget, I must have patience,
Till you link Hubert's name with happiness,
With gifts, and life, and bounty. Do not trouble
That I should know how you have set your heart
Unwitting on the king; so loyally
I love him, I could give him even you,
Were he not plighted. We will only live,
Dearest, to do his pleasure.

Almund.
Once a year,—
Never meanwhile,—I meet in frosty March
The good earl's wife.
[Aside, kissing her brow.]
God seals upon their foreheads
Those whom He chooses, His elect. Farewell.

[Exeunt.]