University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Enter Raymond from the Garden followed by Avice.
RAYMOND
(speaking as he enters)
I have no more to say.

AVICE
Saying no more
You have said nothing.

RAYMOND
(turns and confronts her)
How?

AVICE
(arranging her skirts)
That's a great gust,
But I'm unruffled. Will you go with me
To the Duke's to-night? 'Tis not till twelve o'clock;
There's time to cool.

RAYMOND
Avice!

AVICE
Did you not say
You had said all? What tongues these husbands have,
Who can say all, and nothing to the purpose,
And after all, find something left unsaid
Which was, perhaps, the only thing to say
With any show of reason! What's your will?

RAYMOND
You cannot cheat me with this mask of scorn,
While fire beneath the lids, and sobs i' the throat,
And all the little feeble frame aquiver,
Mock you, as if a child should run to your knee
And cry, ‘Look at me; I'm asleep!’ Be wise:
You are not a child.

AVICE
I am angry—nothing else!

RAYMOND
O, that need make no difference. Be angry,
'Twill pass the time more quickly; my commands
Reach not your temper, but your acts.

AVICE
I thank you
For telling me the scope of your commands.
Pray issue one! I'll watch it curiously
And see what happens.

RAYMOND
I must have your promise.

AVICE
Indeed! And by what means?

RAYMOND
You are my wife—

AVICE
Alas, I am!

RAYMOND
You cannot anger me.

AVICE
Why, what a splendid Actor! He's not angry,
With all the signs of fury in his face,
Voice, gesture, language, incoherent all
With feigned similitude of wrath unfelt.
I must applaud.

RAYMOND
I ask you for your promise!

AVICE
(clapping her hands)
Encore! That tone was perfect!

RAYMOND
You can hang
That shining trifle which you call your heart
Round any neck; I had it here on mine
A little longer than I wanted it—
It can bear tossing; but I'll have the name
Which I have given you, clear as mountain snow
Which blushes if the sun but looks at it.
There has been one low whisper; if I hear
Another—

AVICE
Will you murder me?

RAYMOND
(grasping her)
I might
Do that.

AVICE
Be proud that you can make me pale.
I am a woman and you frighten me.

RAYMOND
Enough. Consider it at leisure.

[Going.
AVICE
(in tears)
Raymond!

RAYMOND
O pardon me, my wife, the time is past.
Water the rock and it shall teem with roses
Sooner than any praying by dead Love
Shall rouse a pulse of life. It is not there.

[Exit into his cabinet.
AVICE
(stamping and sobbing)
That he should see me weep! We should be made
Of iron, we women, having so much more
To bear than men have. This is not for love;
'Tis tremor of the nerves: a little more
Of some hard-sounding gas i' the air I breathe;
A touch of coming thunder; subtle scent
Of hostile flowers—would strike me just as low,
So poorly are we furnished for the conflict
Wherein we are to die. Were I a man
I would treat women gently. I have borne
More than I should, but 'tis the last disdain
He shall cast at me. I would cross the world
To get beyond the limit of his touch,
Yet I stay here. If I could drown myself
Before his eyes—O! when the water closed
So soft, so cold, so fast, upon my face
Which he once thought so fair, I should not see
Whether he stretched his hand; I might go down
Into the darkness, dreaming that he cared.
Why does this ghastly fancy stand before me
Like something that shall happen? I'm not well;
I must get hence, go somewhere, anywhere
Away from this inhuman faithless place
Which took the name of home to poison me
With deadly breathings. Anywhere from here!

[Exit Avice.