 | Anna Ruina |  |
1
ACT I
Senlis, the forest. To the right a tent, the curtains of which are thrown open; in the centre of the scene a broad alley of over-arching trees ends in a view of St. Vincent's Tower and of the Royal Palace. To the left and to the extreme right lesser woodland alleys pass out of sight into distances of shade.
Inside the tent Anna is bending over Philip, who supports an illuminated book on the edge of an old stone table, by which he kneels. A few attendants lie on the grass under the gold and motionless trees. The air is deep grey, as if an abrupt storm might break on it.
Anna.
My little son!
Philip.
Mother, I am attentive.
Anna.
Yes—the book!
But get the page by heart.
[She turns from him and looks forth.]
2
For all this adverse joy that sweeps my soul
Like devastation, yet begins so softly
Just at some hidden point where pain begins.
Something must say what I am suffering!
'Tis too immense for silence: lakes and ponds
Lie flat and stagnant; every ocean lair
Must have its murmurous rim.
[She has paced beyond the tent and now turns back and pauses, watching Philip.]
The child is rapt,
Poring upon this “Mirror of the World,”
As if indeed it were the universe,
And he unfolding all its envelopes
To reach the centre. Fie upon me, fie!
He is, or he should be, my very world,
And all my life a Sabbath for the joy
Just of beholding him ... my answered prayer,
The very cry and foible of my heart,
My king to be, my womanhood—Ah, no,
For that would be as if God breathed the light
He had created ... not my womanhood!
I have been wife and mother; I am queen;
These are mere offices. I see myself
With my nurse in Russia stripping cranberries
From the sharp, thorny boughs ...
A holiday!
Philip, put by your books.
[She stands by him again in the tent.]
Philip.
But I am perfect,
If you will hear my circles. First the earth,
3
Above the watery sky.
A Page.
[At the tent-door.]
Madam, the Count,
Craving an instant's audience.
Philip.
Mother, stay ...
I must repeat the circles.
Anna.
Oh this “Mirror,”
This “Mirror of the World!” [Closing the book.]
We must be patient,
And kings are interrupted every hour.
An instant, you shall teach me all the world
Through all its varying spheres.
[To the Page.]
Admit the Count.
[Enter Count Hugo from the Central Avenue.]
Count Hugo!
Hugo.
Madam, there are counts and counts,
And all your servants; but I had not ventured
Myself to press upon your morning leisure.
I come on urgent business from the Count,
To plead for him.
Anna.
I cannot now attend.
4
He craves permission to retire from Senlis
This very morning.
Anna.
It is not my will.
Tell him this briefly.
Hugo.
You instruct our prince.
How sweetly tutored! All the universe
Is his in such a mother.
Philip.
When I rule,
You shall not stop my studies.
Hugo.
Jealousy!
Find me, my frowning King, among your figures
The little door to Hell; I have the key:
We will descend together. [To Anna.]
Must I add
The Count is absolute: he leaves to-day,
Giving no reason, for his Château Blois.
In reverence to my Queen I have translated
His bluff, defiant speech to courtesy.
But do not sigh, fair lady; he reviles
At every turn your majesty, and hints
In terms so gross that you are amorous—
The boy is busy with his books—your knights
And true liege servants suffer for the peril
Your honour suffers.
5
He remains at Senlis.
Hugo.
He will not.
Philip.
I have found the way to Hell—
This blot in the picture.
Hugo.
Madam, if indeed
Being Queen, you are a woman ...
Anna.
Execute
Count Raoul's business for him, if you will;
But I dismiss you from my sylvan Court,
And he remains.
Hugo.
To tempt in Paradise.
Lady, my duty and obedience.
[Exit Hugo. The wind begins to rise.]
Anna.
He shall not go, he must not. If he should—
Away, quite gone, why I should follow him
Over the Asian steppes. Such solitude
Breathes round me with his name! He is alone
And absolute as God. But does God doom
This exile from Himself? There is some darkness,
Some bitter thing between.
6
O mother, hearken!
I hear the huntsmen; but I may not hunt;
I must go back to Abbot Anseïs,
Who never gives me holiday like you.
Anna.
[Kissing him.]
Back to your studies, child!
[Philip leaves the tent; two pages advance to fetch his book; they carry it behind him as he goes down the avenue.]
They all will come,
And find me blanched and trembling. ... Some will jeer.
[She comes out of the tent and looks back on the alleys.]
Is the child gone? To have him by my side,
To teach him horsemanship, to be at least
The dowager great queen! The boy has passed,
And I must face my courtiers alone,
Bear the exposure of my thwarted will,
And—but they bring me “Senlac;” he is fleet.
[Raoul advances round the back of the tent and speaks to the Queen's squires.]
Raoul.
Forbear awhile. [To Anna.]
Good morrow, Queen.
Anna.
We hunt,
Count Raoul, and you do not come attired—
Not for the chase.
7
I am a traveller:
I have affairs with Rome.
Anna.
You are a pilgrim?
Raoul.
[Laughing.]
With staff and scallop! No: the Pope must send
To me his message. So I take my leave.
I start for Crépy. Can you say farewell?
How the dogs plague you! Do not speak to them.
Give me farewell and liberty.
Anna.
Farewell!
[They stand silent an instant.]
You were so eager to be gone; you pause.
Raoul.
You do not see—your eyes are on the ground—
Your Court is mustering in the avenue.
Anna.
Why then, farewell, and I will meet my Court.
Raoul.
No, my fair Sovereign, I will keep my place
Beside you, as your courtier. At least
You shall not bear the gibes your foolishness
Of too free grace have given warrant to;
But I beseech you do not put my pride
To further trial.
8
Anna.
Clouded brows, my lords!
I fear 'tis heaven's clouding, for this storm
Forbids our pastime; there will be a storm.
Count Gosport.
A storm to keep our Count from journeying.
Sir Raoul, you are clad a traveller,
And yet defer your starting for a gale.
'Tis prudent.
Count Fierabras.
Nay, nay, 'tis obedience.
Our Queen has charged Sir Raoul, as his Queen,
His Queen and mistress, his ...
Anna.
I bade farewell,
Farewell and yet farewell, till it has rung
In echo through the woods; but I must learn
That other royalties beside my own
Have their caprice and tyranny. [Facing the oncoming storm.]
I bow.
Count Fierabras.
But our fair sport is spoiled.
Anna.
My lords, not mine.
So brave a morning; and we are not old
9
But then they are regrets, and the sweet moment
We drink deliciously. The winter come,
We take the gentle respite of this gale
That whispers, wails, and yet exhilarates,
Catching the early frost. I am so happy!
My Count of Valois, have you no ambition
Left for your huntsman's valour? You may win ...
What, with this autumn morning?
I must lead you
Where the great scarlet pear-trees of the valley
Will rouse with blood of battle those dead eyes
That stare so gloomily. Come, gentlemen,
Let us disperse companion-wise. My orchards,
Dreaming their fruit again, are still most dear
And good, if not for feasting, for retreat,
Though the thick turf is frosted. O Physician,
That deprecating gesture!
Physician.
It is wet,
The fern high-branched and stubborn; if you wander
These forest-tracks ...
Fernando.
[Springing forward.]
But I will hold your dress,
Will swish aside the brambles.
Anna.
And the dew!
Fernando, can you brush it from the tracks?
No, my fair lieges, I will tread no more
On paths prepared. Henceforward, as I choose,
I walk and catch the briars.
10
Count Fierabras.
St. Genviève,
Our Queen is lost.
Fernando.
She has the noblest escort,
The strongest in the world. What king, my lords,
Has vassals like his titles; in himself
Raoul le Grand most absolute, and Count
Beside of Crépy-Valois, Amiens,
Vitry, Péronne, Montdidier ...
Count Fierabras.
Can he shield her
From the small, winking archer of the woods,
Dan Cupid? Boy, we will not doubt your master;
But, say, does not our Sovereign favour him
With more than royal favour?
Count Gosport.
Ay, Sir Page;
And you have peeped in privacy.
Fernando.
My lord
Dismisses me when he is with the Queen.
Physician.
Why, this is worse and worse. I see no cure
For this complaint—eh, eh!
11
You are dismissed.
But if you turn your head, the door ajar,
Has the scene altered? Does she kiss your lord
Upon the cheek, and sigh, and then return,
As one inhales the perfume of a flower,
Rests for an instant from the luscious bell,
Then diving for dear life ...
Count Gosport.
Ho, ho! You blush!
So you betray your master.
Fernando.
Blessèd Virgin,
How shall I speak before vile ears nor lie?
My lords, I am ashamed thought of dishonour
Can mingle with your image of the Queen.
You are her servants: I, Sir Raoul's page,
Swear that he gives her unpolluted service,
Most distant, of chill courtesy, almost
A Spaniard's in reserve.
Physician.
He knows the trick,
He will not court dismissal like a fool.
Count Fierabras.
Well, I have roused suspicion in the Count,
By sharp, decisive comment on the Queen,
That she is toying with him, that she laughs
When his brow burns beneath her smile. He suffers
Outrageous torment, as a thousand hornets
12
Trust me he suffers.
Count Gosport.
Ah, he saved your life
Once at a tourney: you must take revenge.
Count Fierabras.
Simply by idle speeches on the air;
By hints. ... He still is smarting from the shame
Fair Aliénor has heaped upon his head ...
I hint he is so handsome, and divorced,
He tempts our Queen to trifle. Then his rage
Is levin at his lips—no speech, a quiver.
I shrug my shoulders.
Count Gosport.
Is the rumour true
Of this divorce? Has Rome yet widowed him?
His glorious wanton has a pious soul,
And passions of a tiger.
Count Fierabras.
He is free;
He has flung her off for ever, and his torment
Is to yield worship, with the doubts of hell
Knotting his heart, to a benignant goddess,
Who gives him all he asks, receives his prayers
Who ... But discretion!
Fernando.
Gentlemen, forbear,
I am a Spaniard and I follow little
13
I say you lie, if you accuse ...
Count Fierabras.
Your lord?
Or the King's mother?
Fernando.
In the light she stands
White as the sunshine
Count Fierabras.
You defend a queen,
You give the lie to belted knights of France ...
[They all draw their swords.]
Because your blood is Spanish. Let it flow!
Is that the colour—ha?
[He wounds Fernando, who falls with a cry. Kissing a little cross on his breast, he swoons.]
A scratch! Physician,
You must not make us enemies. A scar,
No proffered harm to life, a chastisement;
To Raoul a slight menace. Best retire.
A hurt that needs no dressing!
Physician.
[Staunching the wound.]
'Tis not fatal!
[Apart.]
But yet I will return.
[They go out down the central avenue. The wind breaks over Fernando as he lies. In a pause Raoul and Anna re-enter by the avenue to the right.]
14
The gale increases.
Anna.
Yes, one must pause an instant to take breath.
Look through the trees, look through the blue—the clouding
Of the wind-blinded plain. Oh, I must rest!
Raoul.
This wandering with no goal. ... Lady, I hunt,
And fight, and give command. To front a force
I neither may defy nor overcome
Is little to my taste. This howling wind ...
Anna.
Flutters my veil aside.
Raoul.
You court its touch.
Anna.
The veil is teazing. Will you draw it close?
Raoul.
At your command, with comment on the face.
How beautiful you are, and the mad wind
Has dared to flush you. I have seen you pale,
Dead pale, unruffled: in this boorish storm
You lose your queenship. I conduct you home.
Lady, your hand!
15
What business have you here?
Fernando, bleeding? Nay, the wound is dressed.
You cannot rise alone. I love you, boy. ...
What foe of mine dare stab you?
Fernando.
The whole Court,
Soon as your back was turned, proclaimed you traitor,
Seducer of the Queen and infamous.
I swore you were her guardian, and her state
Kept as a sword between you. Then their daggers
Were brandished round me, half in chastisement,
Scorning the scornful page: but one struck deep.
O master, they have cleft my very heart,
For I have seen what I will never bear
An instant in my thoughts. ... their ribaldry
Struck on my eyes. 'Twere best that you should slay me,
Wíshing to stop my tongue, for you would stop
My eyes from their remorse.
Raoul.
[To Anna.]
Can you not learn
The boy speaks truth? It gives me suffering
Keener than any a soft youth can bear
To see you derogate.
Anna.
Remove the boy;
He raves delirious. Then, as you are knight,
Return to me.
16
Have you not heard his mouth
Proclaim your honour wounded?—for he means
Your honour all the while. You are abashed,
Confess, you are abashed! And for a whim
You lose your majesty.
Anna.
But I am deaf,
Deaf of my very nature as a queen,
Stone-deaf to slander. If Fernando dies
I am indifferent: listeners of all kinds
Are weak, are parasites. Remove the boy,
If you would have him healed.
Raoul.
[Lifting Fernando.]
Then bid farewell.
Anna.
You say you love him, you would have him live.
If you would have me live, if presently
You would not see me dead upon the ground,
You must not ring farewell upon my lips;
For when I say it, even as an echo,
My heart grows frozen.
Raoul.
Ah, I know, I know.
I have heard that before. Back to your castle,
Say I offended you, but do not say
You lured me to the woods. [Arrested by Anna.]
How like a statue,
17
In the strong spell her presence casts on me
I cannot move. Such numbness! Lad, I fear
We are enchanted by this stranger princess.
I have no power to raise you.
Fernando.
[On his knees to Anna.]
Senlis, Senlis!
Lady, you face that tower: appeal to her,
Our great protectress! Mother of our king,
As you love France, and as you love my lord,
Commend him to God's Mother; bid him go.
Ave Maria!
[Again he falls back.]
Anna.
[Clasping her hands.]
But I cannot pray
And loose and let him go! When he has left me,
I shall be solitary in the wood
And lone as a strayed child. [Fernando gives a piteous groan.]
Farewell—Farewell!
Dear Mother, of thy virtue I can speak—
Farewell! O instant miracle! Begone!
Give me no answer.
I have said farewell.
[Raoul raises Fernando and carries him away; within sight, down the avenue he meets the Physician, consigns Fernando to him, and then plunges into the thickest part of the wood.]
And now I need not watch him any more
In the eddies of the storm. Ave Maria,
Draw him back to me! Lo, he is struck dumb
18
The love I bear him. Thou didst raise me up
To be a mother, and I reared that tower
In gratitude: it was for France I prayed,
For succour of a kingdom, not myself. ...
But now, 'mid ruin of these autumn leaves,
And wail and bitter chilling of the wind,
I pray, O Mary, Queen of Miracle,
For softness of the spring: my heart is hard,
And love is hard; it is the long disuse,
The falsehood, the suspicion; for I dreamed
Of love as thou in lonely Nazareth,
Mother, as fervently, with soul as bowed,
With loyalty as pure: then custom came
And wedded me, then fell the barren curse ...
I walked a shadow 'mid these stately trees,
Stricken and silenced by the great reproach,
When one May morning by a little shrine
I knelt with callous heart. In the new year
A child was born, and touching the small limbs,
And catching their small touches at my breast,
I found sometimes that I was sighing on
For days, as in my girlhood; and the joy
Of finding that deep well-spring at my heart
Bubbling afresh, reared for thee yonder shrine
Men call me foundress of. O blessèd Virgin,
Again my spirit died: I stood by death
Indifferent, stood indifferent to the honour
France sought to heap on me; and made escape
To the dewy woods of Senlis.
Pray for me:
By Calvary, by all thou didst endure
Being esteemed as others, till the Cross
19
My worship, give it patience. If thou hear'st
This prayer of mine, I have no more to give;
My riches will be torn from me; as poor
As any peasant by a convent gate
I shall approach thee. Thou wilt give me all
Thy Seven Sorrows, we shall be together.
Mother, my heart is breaking—pray for me!
Why do I strain my eyes across the branches?
How dare I look! It was too great a prayer.
If once his voice should give me what his eyes
Lit for me in their depths!
[Re-enter Raoul.]
Raoul.
A labyrinth!
I think this forest is a labyrinth
With you for centre. I have tried all paths,
And all conduct me here.
Anna.
It is Madonna ...
Raoul.
Her sorcery—it is! I know you all,
Know her, your patron-temptress. Aliénor
Spent half her hours in an adulterer's bed,
Half by our Lady's altar. ... Au revoir,
You said, and glanced and sighed: so to your will
I swiftly answer.
Anna.
I would speak—
20
Of honour?
Nay, we have done with that. Of what, my Queen,
Would you discourse?
Anna.
Of love.
Raoul.
How natural!
What better, when once honour is removed?
What better? You have given hints enough,
Have chosen me for the lone forest walk.
Anna.
In trust.
Raoul.
Reliance that my blood would fire;
That is a woman's trust. You misconceive.
If you could bear the truth, as with that swirl
Of leaves and snapping branches in your face
You bear the tempest, I would give you truth
In skeleton. Oh, you are petty dreamers!
You think you are the cause: but I will murmur
Free against life, withholding from respect
No mad ejaculation.
Anna.
I forgive,
If you have been deceived.
Raoul.
How distant still
You are, how mere a margin to my soul!
21
You were the cause; you found me sorrowful,
And deemed I was ambitious of your favour,
And dared not woo you. So you plagued me jealous,
As any woman, Alix, Aliénor.
You found me timid. ... Madam, had I wished
To add you to my other mistresses
Success were easy. All that I attempt
Is mine, first to enjoy, then fling away:
At last success has daunted me. I climb
Wave after crested wave—all that is left
Is weariness of storm. This is the plague:
To be so absolute and find no value,
In anything I grasp. This Aliénor,
This wife I have at last divorced, this beauty,
Has not deceived me; still her lustrous hair
Is lustrous; yours will never match the shine.
I have not been deceived, nor shall you pardon,
You who have given matter of offence,
Dishonouring your name. But there, we chatter,
And the black rain is drenching us. To house!
[Violently drawing her toward the tent.]
I do not pardon you that you have changed
My manners, made this possible. I told you
That we must part; you would not, you refused
To say farewell: then, by the Seven Virgins,
Who spilt their lamps and perished in the dark,
You shall become my mistress.
Anna.
I remain
Under the cracking elms: it is my pleasure.
22
Nor, by an inch, my action.
Raoul.
But they rock,
The trees are rocking round you in the wind.
Lady, the peril—
Anna.
To your narrative!
I gave you favour of an audience,
I gave you leave to open the long years
Of your long loneliness. We do not meet
As children with clear faces ... but continue.
I do not let ambassadors break off
From record of their peril or adventure
Encountered for my sake, for any passion
The story sets aflame. This Aliénor,
Your wife, you say did not deceive you, though
As wife she was unfaithful: you desired
Simply the lustrous hair. It keeps its colour;
And yet there is divorce.
Raoul.
I knew her wanton,
Fickle and wanton when I married her:
It was no shock to find her with her lovers;
It was the shock to find myself a fool—
Anna.
She lives.
23
To be forgotten and despised,
And trampled under foot. I would have killed her,
Believe me, had she ever owned my heart
The way a wife may own.
Anna.
How meet it is
That a light woman should be trodden down
On the mire of the highways as a sodden leaf.
Continue, Count. Why did you hesitate
To fling her to the drift of destiny?
Why treat her as your equal, and divorce?
Raoul.
Because ...
My Queen, I may no longer speak,
I dare not; I have shamed myself too far.
You shall not learn.
Anna.
[Turning toward the tent.]
The rain indeed is fierce;
It is my pleasure now to seek the tent,
My pleasure still to question you.
Raoul.
Then hear,
Madonna, hear me. I shall seem to lie—
I am not worthy of your faith. You force me
To speak, who am apostate, of my creed;
To speak to you, whom my vile lips confounded
An instant with my base desires, of love.
24
It was of love that I desired to speak,
Drawing you down the forest. Blessèd spot!
For once I caught you singing on a sward,
A little, secret greensward in the beeches,
Blithe, of pure love.
Raoul.
You punish me.
Anna.
I heard:
The creed we over-hear is seldom false.
Take courage.
Raoul.
When I looked on you at Senlis,
At whiles so sorrowful and then with mirth
So simple and abounding, satisfied
To win the approbation of a child,
And share his pastimes, I could bear no longer
A harlot in my house; I put her from me,
Away, for ever, then with cleaner mind
I travelled back to Senlis.
Ah, my Queen!
I am not pious; a rare benison
At whiles in battle and at whiles in song
Has rested on my soul: then I have wept,
But secretly, for very joy, and risen
In myself absolute. You blest me so;
And save that now and then I trilled a snatch
For very rapture in the secret wood,
My love was hidden, stored up with the stars
25
That are not, soon as there are eyes to watch.
I stood apart and let the minions serve,
While you—insufferable!—with your favour,
And torturing, light sallies, set me up
A butt for all your shallow-hearted knights
To jest at and to envy. You have made
Matter for gossip of a mystery
So fresh and awful 'tis as Chaos blabbed
Of a world God had not shaped, that in His dreams
He saw the tender dream of. O profane!
Anna.
[Laying her hand on his.]
You stood apart and let the minions serve.
Raoul.
This is too hard. I had taken this caress
A month ago as meekly as a sinner
Christ stoops down from His crucifix to kiss.
I cannot now. Through all my heart I search
To know where you are leading me. My Queen,
You are in no-wise; though the little hand
Is laid on mine with accent of a Queen;
You are no more my lady. By your words,
Your gestures, your enticements to the forest,
You galled my manhood to another name;
And then, convicting me of infamy,
Stood by and sentenced. Now you play the child—
I dash your hand away; you know it thrills
As the death-lightning could not. Courtesan!
But you have never loved!
26
I am a novice,
Withal a stranger. I have never loved
Save in the woods of Senlis: all I know
Of love is breathing it. I have no arts;
But being by birth a queen, I laid my hand
In yours as sign that I would be your wife.
Raoul.
[Kneeling.]
O infinite, great heart, no more!
Anna.
Beloved!
But now my tongue is loosed, and, as the birds
Sing in the dripping sunshine, I must speak.
Would you not say the spring was back again
In the sharp green of the beeches? More persuasion
Before the difficult, dark brows believe?
May we not yet be lovers?
Raoul.
You forget
You are the mother of a king.
Anna.
Your countess,
Countess of Crépy-Valois, and forgetful
Of the long years before I heard your voice,
Yea, as of very infancy. But yet
I can recall the colour of your hair
That morning in the sun, and your sheathed eyes.
27
Oh, hush! You dazzle me, you dream.
Anna.
So simply
I chose you for my husband.
Raoul.
Anne of France,
If you will marry me, it is more fast
Than bondage to a throne. If you dare love me
As I loved you and dared not, if ... but, stay!
Anna.
Oh, let me live!
Raoul.
The storms are on us, child,
The winter close. Such handfast as I take,
Drawing you down into my inmost soul
There to abide, to be indeed its fellow,
May tax you past your strength. No more illusion,
No dreams before or after! We are ageing;
It is not spring with us. We have no hopes,
No goal but in each other, and, O love,
Death is upon us.
Anna.
But before I die—
Do you not see how there is urgent summer
Under these drifted twigs—the flashing moss,
And curling of soft ivy-ends beneath
28
See, if I push my foot? No more illusion,
No dream that I have touched the quick of life
Being a spouse or mother; no more dreams;
Simply this keen reality of love.
Raoul.
Then with no vow,
Then in the storm and to the bitter end,
I take you for my own, I give myself
Wholly to you.
'Tis but a gipsy hearth
That we can kindle: all the summer woods
Crackling before us for our warmth, and all
Our comfort in the flame. O my Desire,
This is but minstrel's talk, and you are flushing
Through the deep pallor, kindled and in tears.
Anna.
Let me but listen, lie upon your breast
And listen. I could never get your voice
To give me of its kind, after its fashion,
The treasure of your eyes. And now I see
My own in them, and hear I am beloved!
And I am glad 'tis for a little while.
Already I could fall asleep, my own,
Fall fast asleep on your deep, lulling words.
[Starting.]
I wake, if you are silent.
Raoul.
To the end—
And I am glad 'tis for a little while,
Pressed in a little space, long as the woods
29
Most sure of doom, abiding in its shadow
As under raven plumage, we will love.
Then fall the certain night.
Anna.
[Looking up devoutly.]
And then the stars,
Where our great love is stored.
Raoul.
Then fall the night
Black-blooded on the world. You turn aside;
Your lips are moving. Do you dare to pray
While I bend down to kiss you?
Anna.
Yea, my lord,
With a full heart of gratitude to Mary,
My Queen and Patroness, who heard my prayers,
And drew you to my feet.
Raoul.
It was the tremor
Of your lips that would not settle to farewell
Started me restless on the forest path;
And the bared oak disclosed you. Like a Dryad
You leant and whispered. Little liar, at heart
You whispered I should come, and Nature gave you
Of her own magic back.
Anna.
It was Madonna.
30
The low, indomitable voice. A rival,
Dearest, a challenge! You must love me all:
I cannot spare a sigh.
Anna.
But you mistake.
To play sweet music we must catch a lyre,
And we must love with Love. That is religion!
The rest—the silence, what we cannot say,
She builds beside us in great chords. Beloved,
You must not miss them.
Raoul.
—Must not miss your face.
I will have all the ardour of your eyes,
All you present to heaven. I give you all
Of Heaven and Earth and Hell that's wrought in me,
With a great jealousy. You would exclude
And harbour for our Lady the reproaches,
The chiding fondness, the soft providence
You call your prayers. You shall not. Very woman
Of very woman, you shall give me all.
My sole concession is a priest—your pleasure
In that shall be performed: but seven knights,
Secret and sworn, shall witness our espousals;
You shall be deeply sealed my own.
Anna.
[Kissing him.]
My world,
My light, my kingdom!
31
You are weeping, child.
Henceforth confession is to me.
Anna.
How soon
I shall win absolution! O my lord,
These are a lover's tears. I feel that parting
Is nigh at hand; and I am superstitious;
I cannot see you pass into the wood
Out of my sight again.
Raoul.
My bride, my bride!
Anna.
And yet I must; but you will come to-morrow,
Bear me away for ever.
Raoul.
You are mine.
To-morrow! Oh, how light your speech! Our nuptials
Must be to-night: to-morrow there will be
A past indeed, there will be reminiscence!
You will forget that you have been a queen,
Mother of kings; you will forget your prayers.
An instant and we ride.
[He dashes down the central glade.]
Anna.
Come to me quickly;
I dare not be without you, not alone.
| Anna Ruina | |