University of Virginia Library

Scene I.—In a Dell in the Forest.

—Sunset fading into night.—Roco, alone, singing to a strange discordant native instrument:
[Roco]

(The branches part, and Tua-Tua enters softly, coming down a woodside path slowly and carefully. She is pale, and trembles slightly. She looks round somewhat timidly, and, seeing Roco, advances.)
Tua-Tua.—
You sent for me.

Roco.—
I did.

[A pause. He says no more.
(Tua-Tua stands before him, her hands hanging folded in front of her, her eyes looking down)—
[Tua-Tua]
You sent for me.
[Another pause—longer.
You sent for me.

[Another pause—longer still.
(She turns, as if to depart.)
Roco
(with voice gradually growing louder and fiercer)—
I sent for you; and you—you know the cause.
Have I not seen you with the Englishman?
Have I not seen him growing day by day
Dearer, and felt that as he dearer grew
I, Roco, grew perpetually less dear?
Did I not see you kiss him?—yes, last night—
(You never kissed me so. I am not blind!)
Did I not see you give him the white blossom
Fresh from your hair? (You never gave me one!
I am not mad: I mark, I understand.)
[Raising his voice somewhat—
Now, Tua-Tua, here am I to-night,
I, Roco, your old lover—your old slave!—
Yes, so it used to be in the happy days.
Here am I, and I swear you shall not go
Till you have given me burning kiss for kiss.
Kiss me—if you can love me, all the better;
If you are not so gifted, all the worse:
Kiss me, you shall!
(Tua-Tua glances round once; then meets his eyes once without flinching, and looks down again.)
Kiss me.
Well; kissing is too much. Give me your hand.

Tua-Tua.—
I will not.

Roco.—
Then you shall kiss me.

Tua-Tua.—
No, Roco. Don't be foolish. I remember
As well as you the early happy days—
Happy they were—the boyish girlish days
Among the gaudy blossoms, by the streams,
Upon the hills. Don't let us spoil those days.
I have not changed: I gave you all I could,
I give you all I can—I have not changed.
'Tis you have changed—you are not the old Roco.
Come, be the old true Roco—be to-night
The glad, old honest Roco.

Roco.—
Kiss me, then.

Tua-Tua.—
Nay! that were not the glad old courteous Roco.

Roco.—
You do not know me, I have sworn an oath—
Vowed to the Fetish. Ah, you tremble now;
You know the nature of a Fetish oath.
Sworn to the Fetish either I will have
Your body living, or that he shall have
Your blood, your bones, your body—stabbed and dead.
By all our sacred gods the Englishman
Shall never have you; I will kill you first,
But through the Fetish—bloodier, fiercer death—
Kill myself—kill your lover—dye the world
In one broad, bitter, red, tremendous stream.
You do not know me; come, sweet lips, be wise.

Tua-Tua.—
You do not know me.

Roco.—
Yes, I know you well.
You are a bunch of flowers for man to kiss
And fondle with—No more, I think.

Tua-Tua.—
Just so.
Because I am a bunch of flowers—no more—
Why any gathered bunch will serve your need;
I'll pick you in the forest thousands such.
Aye, there are girls who are indeed not more,
Some, perhaps, not quite as much. There's Hadiflèe,
Ashan, Floriflua, Tetua, Honnimel,—
Why one of these might suit you. Let me go.
Roco, dear Roco, will you let me go?
I'll always love—not love—but honour you—
Pray for you at the altar of the gods.
[She stoops and picks a flower.
Here is a blossom for you—let me go.

Roco.—
Do you love me? Say it, and I will let you go.

Tua-Tua.—
Not that, not that. Here, take the blossom, Roco.
See how the white is garlanded with green.

Roco.—
Do you love me? Say it, and I'll let you go.

Tua-Tua.—
You do not mean this, Roco?—you're in play?

Roco.—
Do you love me? Say it, or—I shall not ask
Again. Do you love me?

Tua-Tua.—
I love you not.

Roco.—
Then by the altar of our sacred god,
I curse you, curse you, curse you, Tua-Tua;
I curse your lips that kissed the Englishman;
I curse your bosom that the Englishman
Had kissed—and fondled too—if you had let him:
I curse your luring voice, so subtle-sweet;
I curse your whole smooth body—fragrant now
As this smooth, shining flower I pluck and place
Within my mouth, and spit out to the ground
As soon the god shall spit your body out;
Fragrant no more, a burnt and withered thing—
Black, bleeding, horrid, sickly, nauseous, foul
Disgusting—palpitating yet from death,
From knives, and from the embraces of the priests.
Ah, girl, you don't know all; nor will you know
Until the sacrifice is all fulfilled—
Until upon the altar, panting hard,
Bound for the torture, fragrant for the knife,
You look straight up once—you will not look twice—
And see the passion in the hot priest's eyes
(The priest whose lot has fallen to him to have
The lone fruition of the sacrifice),
The lust, and love, and fierce religion mixed.
Ah, flower—ah, fragrant flower—fragrant for whom?
Not for your English lover after all.
Him, too, I curse, and all his haughty ways;
His high disdain of us—his spotless flesh—
His glittering eyes—his ever-ready sword.

Tua-Tua.—
Love?
Yes this is love. Oh, fool, I know you now,
And soon shall you know Tua-Tua. Fool,
Now I am strong: I am a girl no more,
A woman brimming over with my sex.
I love the Englishman, yes—love him—love him.
I love, love him—love him, love him, love him—
And you; why you I hate. Do you hear my words?
[Drawing nearer.
I hate you, you are but a wretched coward.
I hate you, and for all you have to say,
For all your cries and curses dread you not.
I love my lover, love his golden hair,
Worship the sea within his sea-blue eyes,
Worship a purity enshrined therein,
Of which he has taught me somewhat; every step
Of his fair feet upon our island grass
I follow in awe and worship; oh you fool!
Fool, wretched brainless heartless parrot-head
Ape-heart, and soul of shell-fish; go and seek
[Pointing sea-ward with her left hand.
Your like amid the coral and the weed
That shine beneath the sea there—go and search;
Do you hear me; go I say.

Roco.—
And I, I curse you; go and talk of love
Now to your lover; kiss him gently—so.
[Picking another flower, and making believe to kiss it gently.
He only loves you for your beauty; when
The beauty's gone, the love will vanish too.
He'll fling you forth as I fling forth this flower,
And tread you, as I tread it, in the dust,
I go to bring to pass the Fetish doom.

Tua-Tua
(sinking down among the flowers, utterly exhausted).—
Ah, Robert! Christ! I do want to be good.
I have said too much.
[Then, half-rising.
I do so hate him! yet I love you more
Than I hate him; for you I could forgive him.
Christ help me! Robert help me! I must rest,
Must even sleep, it may be, for a little.
What was the prayer you taught me, Robert—words
About forgiving even one's enemies—
And surely Roco is a deadly enemy.
[She falls asleep on the grass, wearied out, saying—
I hate you Roco; yet love, love is best;
To Robert and to Christ I leave the rest.
Good-night.