 | Orval, or The Fool of Time |  |
Scene II.—Night. A garden by a graveyard, as before.
Orval
(walking with agitated gestures).
O fool! fool! miserable, brainless beast!
What devil was in thee when thou didst that deed?
Who drugg'd the cup which thy besotted soul
Suck'd, as 'twere nectar, to the deadly dregs?
What bribed thee, brute, to be the murderer
Of thine own liberty? this double chain
Of never-changing custom, whose cramp links
So glitter'd in thy gross and greedy gaze
That thou didst take their gilded iron for gold,
And sell thyself to clutch them! Break it now
Thou canst not, though thou tear away the flesh
They cling to, and canker. Out on this cheat, time,
That wins eternity away from all
Who trust the present's fraudulent promise pledged
Upon a bankrupt future! What hath been
This life of mine, since that disastrous hour
Which made it mine no more? . . Death's leave to rot
Down to the grave by gradual dull decays,
And moulder slowly!
(Clock strikes from the Castle tower.)
Ha! is it not the hour
When I was wont to mount my throne? My throne!
Where is it? where my nimble ministers,
Those beautiful bright Spirits of burning orbs,
Whose congregated glories girt me round
With rows of starry brows intensely turn'd
To me, their monarch; hands in homage raised,
Radiant, to reach my sceptre's point that, where
I waved, it sway'd them, as the unseen wind
Around their ardent centre sways the tops
Of yearning flames: so yearn'd they all to me!
And my will ruled them all, like a young god.
Where are they vanisht from me? What new lord
Sits on the throne my vassals built for me,
Waving my wand? Minions, must I return
Like a repentant abdicated prince,
Yet hankering after power too rashly yielded,
To cry your pity, beg your leave to take
My crown again, and sue back your releast
And vagrant suffrage? Rather shall I be
Like some lost god, whom loss of empire goads,
Clad in fierce grandeur of a fallen fiend,
And hungry for old incense gone, to prowl
About the precincts of his perisht power,
With red eyes peering into empty bowls
Among his brazen shrines, and in the dark,
Where no more tapers burn, crouching to catch
And crush apostate priests. But no, by heaven!
My spirit, that long hath slept, awakes. Still mine
Is all that made me what I was—your lord!
Bright slaves, behold me! Tremble! appear! obey! (He waves his arms wildly.)
(After a pause).
They come not. I hear nothing but the wind
Sighing among the graves: and nothing see
But the wan clouds, whitening and darkening fast,
As through their melancholy membrane thin,
Like a faint impulse through a sick man's veins,
The flitting of the momentary moon
Comes and is gone. Nature draws down the veil
O'er her divine deep eyes, and like a stranger
Hastes from me. Vox clamantis in deserto!
I cry and there is none to answer me,
Call and none comes. The Spirit that once plagued Saul
Plagues me: and unto me too, as to him,
The voices of the oracles are dumb.
God! Thou art just. Thy priests have consecrated
The union of two human lives. But Thou?
Wilt Thou vouchsafe no severance of the bond
Which now unites two corpses?
(Evil Spirit rises.)
Ah, she comes!
Bright One, again thy breath is on my brow!
Again, again, those deep eyes in my soul
On their own trembling image are shining sad
As stars on a dark water! Calm and pale
Dictatress of my passionate destinies,
Beest thou but empty air, phantom or dream,
Or insubstantial vapour, the vext mind
Sends hovering up from the unquiet heat
Of its own burning thoughts, small care have I
To know aught else of thee than that thou art;
And O how beautiful thou art to me!
Child of mine inmost self, that comest thus,
In the last watches of the wakeful night,
To tempt the father that begat thee, . . O stay!
If thus it be, and thou, indeed, no more,
Image of all beätifying beauty,
Than the poor painted creature of the cloud
And habitant of hollow nothingness;
What then am I, from whose corporeal self
And palpable humanity, fair fiend,
Thou hast suckt out the nobler essences
To feed the light of those bewildering eyes?
This is the dross and refuse of a man,
Not I, not anything! So let me breathe
In that fine air thou breathest, . . else I die!
Thou hast dislodged me from myself . . I claim
Inhabitation of thine airy sphere.
All thine I am. Lead on. I follow thee.
Evil Spirit.
I have heard. Remember thou,
Mortal, thine immortal vow!
Through the night air dark and hollow,
Where I lead thee, follow! follow!
Further than the rocky ledge
Of the stretch'd land's sea-girt edge,
Further than where heaven's clear cope
O'er the flat sea's end doth slope;
Higher than tree-top ever grew
Mountain reach'd, or wild bird flew;
Deeper than those depths of green
By the drowning seaman seen;
There where sun hath never set,
Never rose hath wither'd yet,
Beauty never ceased to be
Beautiful, nor freedom free:
There, where life is life for ever,
Love, the light it loses never;
Where, a bright immortal child,
Joy is ever fresh and wild,
Fed on flowers that never there
Winter strips of blossoms bare.
Would'st thou woo me? Hither to me!
Night and day must thou pursue me.
Come, my lover! Darkness cover
All the life whose light is over.
To me! Woo me! Would'st thou view me
As I am, pursue, pursue me!
Orval.
Rest! rest! O, if thou be the exprest Desire
Of all desires, the Thought of every thought,
Why rest no longer than a fleeting thought,
A vain desire?
The Voice of Veronica
(from a window in the Castle.)
Dear heart, the night is chill.
Thou wilt take cold. Come back, come back, my own!
Without thy presence I am full of fears
In this drear dim old chamber, all alone.
O haste, dear heart! The morning breaks. Haste home!
Orval.
Anon! anon!
(Evil Spirit sinks.)
Voice on the Air
(dying away.)
Weak mortal lover,
Fare thee well! The charm is over.
Soon to meet, though now to part,
Faithless soul, and feeble heart,
Hers thou art not: mine thou art.
Orval.
Gone! . . . Yet methought with promise of return.
And then? . . . Hers,—hers, whate'er She be! Farewell,
Home of my fathers, and thou native land;
Farewell, old garden where my boyhood play'd;
Farewell, friends, kindred, all . . . and farewell, she
Form'd for all these, only not form'd for me!
Voice from the Window above.
Orval!
Orval.
Anon! anon!
The Voice.
Prithee come soon.
I am not very strong just now, dear love,
Not since our little Muriel was born,
—Nor very well; nor able to say why
These faint cold seizures frighten me so much.
But come, thou dearest!
Orval.
And my child? . . . Gods! gods!
(He re-enters the house.)
Orval
(walking with agitated gestures).
O fool! fool! miserable, brainless beast!
What devil was in thee when thou didst that deed?
Who drugg'd the cup which thy besotted soul
Suck'd, as 'twere nectar, to the deadly dregs?
What bribed thee, brute, to be the murderer
Of thine own liberty? this double chain
Of never-changing custom, whose cramp links
So glitter'd in thy gross and greedy gaze
That thou didst take their gilded iron for gold,
And sell thyself to clutch them! Break it now
Thou canst not, though thou tear away the flesh
They cling to, and canker. Out on this cheat, time,
That wins eternity away from all
Who trust the present's fraudulent promise pledged
Upon a bankrupt future! What hath been
This life of mine, since that disastrous hour
Which made it mine no more? . . Death's leave to rot
43
And moulder slowly!
(Clock strikes from the Castle tower.)
Ha! is it not the hour
When I was wont to mount my throne? My throne!
Where is it? where my nimble ministers,
Those beautiful bright Spirits of burning orbs,
Whose congregated glories girt me round
With rows of starry brows intensely turn'd
To me, their monarch; hands in homage raised,
Radiant, to reach my sceptre's point that, where
I waved, it sway'd them, as the unseen wind
Around their ardent centre sways the tops
Of yearning flames: so yearn'd they all to me!
And my will ruled them all, like a young god.
Where are they vanisht from me? What new lord
Sits on the throne my vassals built for me,
Waving my wand? Minions, must I return
Like a repentant abdicated prince,
Yet hankering after power too rashly yielded,
To cry your pity, beg your leave to take
My crown again, and sue back your releast
And vagrant suffrage? Rather shall I be
Like some lost god, whom loss of empire goads,
Clad in fierce grandeur of a fallen fiend,
And hungry for old incense gone, to prowl
About the precincts of his perisht power,
With red eyes peering into empty bowls
Among his brazen shrines, and in the dark,
Where no more tapers burn, crouching to catch
And crush apostate priests. But no, by heaven!
44
Is all that made me what I was—your lord!
Bright slaves, behold me! Tremble! appear! obey! (He waves his arms wildly.)
(After a pause).
They come not. I hear nothing but the wind
Sighing among the graves: and nothing see
But the wan clouds, whitening and darkening fast,
As through their melancholy membrane thin,
Like a faint impulse through a sick man's veins,
The flitting of the momentary moon
Comes and is gone. Nature draws down the veil
O'er her divine deep eyes, and like a stranger
Hastes from me. Vox clamantis in deserto!
I cry and there is none to answer me,
Call and none comes. The Spirit that once plagued Saul
Plagues me: and unto me too, as to him,
The voices of the oracles are dumb.
God! Thou art just. Thy priests have consecrated
The union of two human lives. But Thou?
Wilt Thou vouchsafe no severance of the bond
Which now unites two corpses?
(Evil Spirit rises.)
Ah, she comes!
Bright One, again thy breath is on my brow!
Again, again, those deep eyes in my soul
On their own trembling image are shining sad
As stars on a dark water! Calm and pale
Dictatress of my passionate destinies,
Beest thou but empty air, phantom or dream,
Or insubstantial vapour, the vext mind
45
Of its own burning thoughts, small care have I
To know aught else of thee than that thou art;
And O how beautiful thou art to me!
Child of mine inmost self, that comest thus,
In the last watches of the wakeful night,
To tempt the father that begat thee, . . O stay!
If thus it be, and thou, indeed, no more,
Image of all beätifying beauty,
Than the poor painted creature of the cloud
And habitant of hollow nothingness;
What then am I, from whose corporeal self
And palpable humanity, fair fiend,
Thou hast suckt out the nobler essences
To feed the light of those bewildering eyes?
This is the dross and refuse of a man,
Not I, not anything! So let me breathe
In that fine air thou breathest, . . else I die!
Thou hast dislodged me from myself . . I claim
Inhabitation of thine airy sphere.
All thine I am. Lead on. I follow thee.
Evil Spirit.
I have heard. Remember thou,
Mortal, thine immortal vow!
Through the night air dark and hollow,
Where I lead thee, follow! follow!
Further than the rocky ledge
Of the stretch'd land's sea-girt edge,
Further than where heaven's clear cope
O'er the flat sea's end doth slope;
Higher than tree-top ever grew
46
Deeper than those depths of green
By the drowning seaman seen;
There where sun hath never set,
Never rose hath wither'd yet,
Beauty never ceased to be
Beautiful, nor freedom free:
There, where life is life for ever,
Love, the light it loses never;
Where, a bright immortal child,
Joy is ever fresh and wild,
Fed on flowers that never there
Winter strips of blossoms bare.
Would'st thou woo me? Hither to me!
Night and day must thou pursue me.
Come, my lover! Darkness cover
All the life whose light is over.
To me! Woo me! Would'st thou view me
As I am, pursue, pursue me!
Orval.
Rest! rest! O, if thou be the exprest Desire
Of all desires, the Thought of every thought,
Why rest no longer than a fleeting thought,
A vain desire?
The Voice of Veronica
(from a window in the Castle.)
Dear heart, the night is chill.
Thou wilt take cold. Come back, come back, my own!
Without thy presence I am full of fears
In this drear dim old chamber, all alone.
47
Orval.
Anon! anon!
(Evil Spirit sinks.)
Voice on the Air
(dying away.)
Weak mortal lover,
Fare thee well! The charm is over.
Soon to meet, though now to part,
Faithless soul, and feeble heart,
Hers thou art not: mine thou art.
Orval.
Gone! . . . Yet methought with promise of return.
And then? . . . Hers,—hers, whate'er She be! Farewell,
Home of my fathers, and thou native land;
Farewell, old garden where my boyhood play'd;
Farewell, friends, kindred, all . . . and farewell, she
Form'd for all these, only not form'd for me!
Voice from the Window above.
Orval!
Orval.
Anon! anon!
The Voice.
Prithee come soon.
I am not very strong just now, dear love,
Not since our little Muriel was born,
—Nor very well; nor able to say why
These faint cold seizures frighten me so much.
But come, thou dearest!
48
And my child? . . . Gods! gods!
(He re-enters the house.)
| Orval, or The Fool of Time | |