Orval, or The Fool of Time :: :: University of Virginia Library

Scene I.—Sunset. Mountain and Valley near the Castle of Orval, which is partly visible in the background. Mists forming over the landscape. Distant joy-bells, which cease as the scene opens. The Guardian Angel descends.
Guardian Angel.

From soul to soul hath war been waged,
From star to star, from sun to sun:
Nor e'er shall be the strife assuaged
That's hourly lost and hourly won.
Ancient of Days, that here in light,
And there in darkness, dost array Thee,
Thou madest day, Thou madest night,
And both obey Thee.

The sons of night Thy servants are:
They work Thy will, no less than we,
The sons of light, that with them war
Unwearied where no end can be.

But woe to man, if light in vain
He sees, and seeks the darkness rather!
From seed of evil, evil grain
That man shall gather.

Dreams fade, deeds fail, and days depart,
And all is changed in time and place.
Thrice blessèd are the pure in heart:
For only they shall see God's face.
Man's life from cradle leads to tomb:
Man's love from Earth may lead to Heaven:
Be thankful, therefore, thou to whom
A heart was given.

Hold fast, O man, to whom God gives,
To keep thy heart still undefiled,
The holy human love that lives
In kiss of wife, and kiss of child,
Hold fast the gift! The hour, that now
To Heaven returns, to Heaven is bearing
A husband's sacramental vow,
Vow'd in God's hearing.

The pure in heart God's face shall see.
They of the Blest are blessèd most.
Man's heart, O Lord, lies bare to Thee:
Shall this man, Lord, be saved, or lost?
Though o'er his soul be cast the net
That Satan weights with strong temptation,
He that hath yet a heart may yet
Escape damnation.

(The Guardian Angel ascends.)

Evil Spirits
(rising with the mist).

With the vapours arising from earth arise,
Shadows of Falsehood, whose shapes are lies,
And enter where ye are waited!
Phantoms, and films, and illusions,
That mimic the light you loathe,
With deliriums, dreams, and confusions
The creature that calls you, clothe!
Choke the conscience, and cheat the eyes,
Strangle the spirit, but stifle its cries:
For the fall of the fool is fated.
Love to lust, and courage to crime,
And sense to sin, for the fool of time,
Orval! Orval!

Thou, first, loved beauty of youth's lost bloom,
The Departed of Yesterday, rise from the tomb,
And bewilder him that bewails thee.
Too soon to the darkness hurried,
Wan ghost, to the light rearise,
And, haunting him, dead but unburied,
Reappear in a dream to his eyes.
In the dews of the night be thou bathed, and bound
With the blossoms that grow upon graves, and crown'd,
By the heart of the fool that hails thee,
With the stars of the night, till the grave-worm's slime
Be as glow-worm lights to the fool of time,
Orval! Orval!

Thou also, old picture of Paradise, well
In the cobwebb'd lumber-chamber of Hell

Hast thou rested, rotted, and rusted:
Beëlzebub's masterpiece, painted
Long since, though thy canvas be old,
And the hues of it tarnisht and fainted,
Yet retoucht with our purple and gold,
Thou shalt brighten, and glitter, and glow, for him,
With the colours of Eden ere they wax'd dim.
Come forth, and be furbisht and dusted!
O Nature, mother of sins sublime,
Fair be thy face to the fool of time,
Orval! Orval!

Last, thou, too, carrion bird of prey,
Whose name upon earth is Ambition, away,
Where the huntsman to hunt thee hastens!
Stuff'd with Hell's ashes and cinders,
Famed Bird of Perdition, depart
From thy perch on the Past. Nothing hinders
Thy flight, though a scarecrow thou art.
Spread thy wings in the ardours of morn, and bright
As the sunrise, and swift as the wind, be thy flight,
Till firmly thy talon fastens,
Red with carnage, and crooked with crime,
On the ruin'd heart of the fool of time,
Orval! Orval!

Scene II. Twilight. On the road to the Castle. Bridal Guests and Kinsmen passing.
Country Kinsman.
I say, good men should choose good wives.

Town Kinsman.
Good Cousin,
Were I about to choose a lackey, now,
I'd choose him, Coz, for his good looks: because
There's nothing you can absolutely know
About your lackey, but the looks of him,
Until you've hired him. But, were I to choose
A wife, I'd choose her for her fortune, Coz,
Because there's nothing else a man can know
About a maiden, till he has married her.
Our fair new Cousin . .

Country Kinsman.
With brown woodland eyes,
Shy as a forest creature freshly caught—
Zounds, Cousin! if Orval's not the lovingest spouse,
As she's the loveliest, the world has seen
Since Adam married Eve among the roses,
The devil take him!

A Priest.
Son, I have known this lady,
Since when she was the sweetest child, whom now
I know the sweetest woman, in Christendom;
Nor ever in the simple saintliness
Of her most innocent soul, have I known aught
To wish away.

Country Kinsman.
I am glad to hear it, Father;
For patience is the strength of Saints: and much
I fear that Orval's bride may need that virtue.

Young is he yet; and youth in him was ever
More full of whims and wanderings than the wind.

Old Kinsman.
Ay, our old House should have an older Head:
And more than ever in this swaggering age,
Whose starts and turns make sound experience seem
A stubborn ass. But this wild nephew of mine
Is wilder than a young unhooded hawk,
And cramm'd with crazy thoughts: the flatter'd fool
Of the new-fangled time's pernicious prate,
Which no saue man can sanction.

Young Kinsman.
Uncle, Uncle,
You wrong my cousin Orval! I and he
Were schoolmates. What the boy was, I believe
The man is yet. Rash, choleric, if you will,
But not less proud of his old name is he
Because more proud, justly more proud, dear Uncle,
Of his own power to add new value to it:
Nor yet unmanly vain of gifts the gods
Give no man that is ignorant of their worth:
To him all noble names are trumpet notes
Sounding his spirit to arms: and his full mind
Is stored with every kind of generous fuel
That's quick to kindle to whatever spark
Time, as he passes, from his torch shakes out.

Old Kinsman.
Green wood! green wood! all smoke and splutter, boy.
Who was that Priest?

Country Kinsman.
His name is Father Adam.

Town Kinsman.
Not the first man in the world? Eh, Coz?

Poor Kinsman.
Well, I,
For my part, say that I most cordially
Applaud this marriage: which not only links
Two lordly lines in one, but also mends
What in the solid substance of our House
A somewhat too close contact with the Court
Hath here and there rubb'd shabby.

Town Kinsman.
How he'll cringe
To the new Countess, with his lap-dog looks!
Already is he hankering, look at him,
After his platter.

Country Kinsman.
For all that, he's right.
I scorn the Court. No king shall ever hang
His key between two buttons on my back.
I'll be no lackey, who was born a lord.
And as for Orval, youth's a fault time mends.
I like his generous wildness well enough.

Old Kinsman.
'Faith, all these greatly-gifted youths begin
By taking out a patent of their own
For the creation of the world: and end

By selling it for something they find still
Worth having in the world, just as it is,
As soon as they grow wiser.

Country Kinsman.
Certainly.
And good wives make good husbands ...

Town Kinsman.
Good books say.
And I say, Coz, a sweetheart's cream: a bride
Butter: a wife ... stale cheese. Yonder's the gate.

Old Kinsman.
And the sun's down. Boy, lift the link this way.
Come, gentlemen; we 're not an hour too soon.

Scene III.—Twilight. Under the walls of the Castle. A graveyard adjoining a garden. The Castle, lighted in the background. Dance music from within.
Evil Spirit
(hovering low).

I hear a sound, long silenced, heard
Long since; when in this frozen breast
The burning wells of sense were stirr'd
By that wild music's wandering quest.
Long since, and so long since, alas,
I may no more remember when,
In dream, or wake, my dwelling was
Among the homes and hearts of men.
Long since I heard what now I hear;
My lip was warm with love and wine:
Men's praise was murmur'd in my ear,
So fair a woman's form was mine.

But now the fiends that howl behind
Command my heartless, homeless ghost
Some earthly form more fair to find
Than was the earthly form she lost.

(Over the graves.)

Blue eyes of Beauty, closed and cold,
Though film'd by death, and stain'd with mould,
Beneath the gravestone dreaming;
Awake! and yield to mine the hue
You give the graveyard violet blue,
When grey March mornings, drench'd with dew,
Among the graves are gleaming.

Bright hair of Beauty, mixt with moss,
—Rich threads the red worm runs across,
When to his work he passes;
Float from the grave, and give to mine
The gay gold gleams you grant to shine
Through butter-cups that glitter fine
Between the graveyard grasses.

Red lips of Beauty, bloodless lips,
Whose lover cold, Corruption, slips
Through coffin planks to kiss you;
Yield what, to flush the graveyard rose
With reflex light, your redness throws
Up bramble stems. No bud that blows
From these will miss you.

Ho! Satin sark, on narrow bed,
For a dead Queen's slumber spread,
Slumbering chaste in charnel;
Leave the limbs, though they be cold,

Of the corpse which thou dost fold,
Clothe me! Thou, too, crown of gold,
Deckt with grave-grown darnel!

(Over the flowers.)

Woe to thee, garden! woe
Be to thy warden! Who
Cometh to check me?
Pansy, and passionflower,
Pranking your lady's bower,
Red rose, and lily, shower
Rare blooms to deck me!

Red rose, and lily white,
Mine must you be to-night.
Fade ye, and fall ye!
Wrench'd be from root and stem
Flower-gold, and flower-gem!
Deck me my diadem,
Each as I call ye!

Blighted this garden be,
Blossom, and branch, and tree!
Perish, or come to
Bloom in my cheek and breast,
Roses and lilies! Rest
Ruin'd and dispossest,
Garden, and home too!

Scene IV.—Night. Within the Castle. Private chamber with a balcony overlooking illuminated gardens. Folding doors (closed) in the background communicating with the state apartments of the Castle. Orval and Veronica in the balcony.

SONG

(with music, from the gardens).

The Spirit that shepherds and feeds
The soft herds of the unseen Hours
(Among life's flowers, that are weeds,
And among love's weeds, that are flowers)
Wherever his light will leads,
As he wanders this world of ours,
Those flocks of his
Whose sweet food is
The fresh-fallen dew of the blossoming bliss
That is wither'd as soon as it flourishes:—

Orval.
Not yet!

Veronica.
Then one kiss more, my own dear love,
My husband, ... all best things in one best word!

Orval.
O breathe not, breathe not, even ... much less, move,
Thou fair fulfilment of all dreams!

Veronica.
My lord,
Guests in the garden ... look! My ladies wait
To robe thy bride.

Orval.
'Twill be no more the same
As it hath been, when we two pace in state,
I the staid spouse, and you the bashful dame.

Veronica.
Dear despot!

Orval.
Sweet, I prithee, by the flame
Of this one moment's fire life's substance prove,
Then take the ashes, Chance! I have lived, I love.

(They embrace).

SONG (from the gardens).

He hath open'd the pale penfold,
Gray Twilight had woven together,
Of the dim day's faded gold
And the eve's wan azure weather.
And the stars and sea-winds
Which that Spirit unbinds,
As they dance forth in light and in laughter,
Loosen, each from his lair
In the caverns of Care,
The passionate hopes that were pining there,
By Pride lockt fast,
—To follow at last,
Those dancers, dancing after.

Veronica.
I must away!

Orval.
Oh, dreams less fair than this

Have died ere now, slain by their own strong bliss!
Wake me not yet!

Veronica.
I hear my ladies call.

Orval.
No! 'twas the night-wind in those trembling trees
That tremble, being near thee; or the fall
Of yonder fountain, sighing for far seas,
As I for thee ... some Naïad's madrigal!

Veronica.
Flatterer!

Orval.
My love is great; all language small.

SONG (as before).

Night is come forth from her hold:
And the forests and fields unfold,
Mutter, and sigh, and stir:
While, to wander away with her,
From their camps on the mountains cold,
Cedar, and pine, and fir
Are borne upon shadows bold,
Having husht, lest their way be told,
Bird, cricket, and grasshopper.
At her bosom she bears
The twin-born heirs
Of all that is brightest and all that is best,
In the gift of their mighty mother:
Whose faint lips, prest
To that mother's breast,

Are fed deep on the streams
Of the dim sweet dreams
That nourish each nurseling brother:
But, O, which is her fleetest and fairest son?
For soft-wingèd Sleep is the name of the one,
And swift-wingèd Love is the other.

A Waiting Woman
(entering).
The bride's-ladies of Lady Orval attend
My lady in her chamber.

Orval.
Ah, the end!

Waiting Woman.
The lords of Montmirail, and Fontlerey,
Conan, and Cornuant, and Vitikend,
Cuthbert, and Giles of Orm .....

Orval.
Enough! go say
That Lady Orval comes.

(Exit Waiting Woman.)
Veronica.
I must not stay.
Dear love, this noise and heat, how wearisome!
The tiresome dance, the tedious talk! .. How blest,
Dear love, 'twill be in our own quiet home
To be alone together, and to rest.

Orval.
No, no! A costlier fancy comes in place
Of that which must depart now ... to complete,
And crown Love's feast-day with a final grace,

For Love's feast-night to cherish. Go now, Sweet!
Bathe all that beauty in new beams. Prepare
Thy perfect splendour. Think what I must feel
When presently I stand aside, as 'twere,
From my own bliss .. mix with the crowd .. conceal,
So far as fancy can, from every thought
The knowledge of my sovereignty in thee;
And see thee float before me sumptuously
In light, by thy full-beaming beauty wrought
(From love's bright never-failing source, thyself!)
Around thee ... like the languid splendour, blent
With balmy spices, when some radiant elf
Kindles all round him his rare element,
Upfloating to his native ether free,
While bursts the wizard's limbec .... as tho' nought
Of thee were mine, but that which all may see;
Till, spent with wishful wonder, back I sink,
Back on the dear delicious truth divine
That bids me live, with lavish leave to think,
And feel, and know, that all of thee is mine!
Mine, to make costly chaos and confusion
Of this well-order'd world! mine, mine the right
To ruffle that calm hair's composed profusion,
And free that bosom from its bondage bright!

Veronica.
O hush! my poor heart dreads this dear delusion.
I shudder, gazing from that dizzy height
Where thy praise holds me ... into an abyss.
I, who am full of faults, and weak and slight,
With nothing but the love you'll never miss
To keep me lovely in my dear love's sight.

When you shall find me nothing of all this
Your fancy feigns me now ...

Orval.
Quench fancy quite
In feeling thus, then ... drown'd in such a kiss!

Veronica.
May God, beneath whose gaze my heart lies bare
As the unclouded summer, grant the prayer
I pray'd when at His altar late I knelt,
This morn, and pray'd, when on my cheek I felt
My mother's tears ... that I may be to thee
All that his wife, my whole heart loves, should be!

Orval.
Go, robe thyself in glory! Let my glance,
Borne on thy beauty down the bounding dance,
Glide, where thou glidest, as the passionate bee
Follows hot fragrance through midsummer air.

Veronica.
My Orval! Dost thou wish it? would that we
Might glide away out of all noise and glare,
And be quite quiet ... in each other hidden
Safe from all eyes! But what by thee is bidden
Seems ever sweet to do.

Orval.
Veronica!

(She breaks from him.)

(as before).

SONG

Ere the moon is washt down by the wave in the west,
(O thought dread and sweet!)
Ere the nightingale, roused by the moon, is at rest,
They shall meet!
They, the twain who, of mortals, were taught by the Power
That gave sweets to the bee, giving scent to the flower,
To find in each other, what few find out,
The one thing sweet in a world so sour,
The one thing sure in a life of doubt.
They shall meet, O where,
They, the Strong and the Fair?
In what hour, not of time? in what land, not of earth?
There where life is delight, and where being is birth:
Where the soul and the sense are one feeling alone,
As the heaven and the moonlight are two and yet one:
Where the eyes from the lips
Drink delicious eclipse,
While, in rose-braided car,
Love, free lord of his own,
To the fair, the afar,
The unseen, the unknown,
Through faint depths of dim fire
Is drawn, with tugg'd rein,
By the steeds of Desire,
In strong triumph amain,
Through the twilit courts of the orient porch
Of the Dawn of Life; where the bashful train
Of those tender timorous Spirits, that are
The bearers bright of his blushing torch,

Are waiting the will of the Morning Star,
To unfasten the gate which the Destinies bar
On the brave bold world, that is yet unborn,
Of the resolute race that is yet to be,
When the sunrise of Freedom, in Truth's fair morn,
Shall be solemn and bright over land and sea,
And all earth be one nation, whose name is borne,
Trampling tyranny, scorning scorn,
By the gentle, the just, and the free.

Orval (alone).
Ay! wherefore should it dawn not now, that day?

(as before).

SONG

For the eyes of Hate shall be held so near
To the looks of Love, that their light shall sear
His baleful balls, and snaky Error
Die, caught in the fangs of her own child, Terror.
O dawn of the day we have waited long!
O star of the summits we seek in song!
Arise, and be bright
On the bridal bower
We have fashion'd to-night
For Beauty and Power;
From whose embrace
Bring the bright first-born
Of the Promist Race,
The mild monarchs of Morn,
The strong lords of the Luminous Hour!

Orval.
Wherefore not now ... not here? For some new world

Majestic, populous with august shapes
Of power, and light, and loveliness, begins
From out mine inmost being to put forth fast
Full pulses of a multitudinous life.
O ye innumerable teeming thoughts,
Forces, and faculties, and fantasies,
That rise within me, lords of lucid stars
Whose light makes midnight glorious, are ye not
The monarchs of To-morrow? I have roam'd,
Horsed on four-hoovèd Cheiron, reedy plains
Where river nymphs rose up to stare at us,
And Amazonian maidens aim'd swift darts
That sung and miss'd us, as we fleeted past
Into old sleepy woods. I have twang'd the strings
Of Orpheus' harp, and tasted berries brown,
Asclepios gather'd out of gusty groves
By night for none but me. I have sail'd far
With heroes in a hollow ship, through gulfs
And plunging seas, to Colchis; and have seen
Black-eyed Medea boiling bitter herbs,
And pluckt the fleecy prize, and hasted home
Outspeeding Jason's ship. And, after all
These wonders, I awoke, I knew not where,
Toucht by a woman's hand. And this stale world
Of common life looks new and strange to me,
Who find myself set suddenly, aware,
Awake, with eyes wide ope, a living man,
In the mid concourse of mankind ... to cope,
Contend with, conquer, or be crusht by it? No!
Already in my right hand glows and throbs
The golden ball of empire! In my soul
Already stirs the instinct of command,

The godlike purpose, the preponderant will,
The proud resolve, and all that makes a man!
Farewell, you fair, fast-fading forms! Farewell,
You ghostly nurses of the full-grown strength
That in these pulses pants, impatient now
For action! Let mankind take heed! There comes,
Uncall'd, among the multitude of men,
A stranger, native to an age not theirs;
Who means from out the mass of mortal deeds
To carve a mighty monument for dreams
That are immortal. Let mankind make way!

Phantom Voices
(on the air, dispersedly).
Whither, O whither, do we float to find thee?
Thee, whom we chose and cherisht for our own!
Dost thou not hear upon the dark behind thee
Familiar voices making fondest moan?
Whilst thou wast ours,
Say, did we ever seek, false friend, to bind thee
Faster than falling flowers
Which, for thy careless crown
Cull'd by our fond hands from forgotten bowers,
If lightest winds blew (could blown rose-leaves blind thee?)
Dropp'd from thy loose locks, in soft-shaken showers,
Laughingly down?

Orval.
Whence are those voices? I have heard them once,
When? Where? But now how changed their tone! how faint!

Doth the wind sing them? or doth fancy feign
The fleeting echo of departed days?
What are those forms that float before mine eyes,
And seem to sink into yon drowning dark
With desperate gestures, and wan visages?

The Voices
(growing fainter).
Faintly, ah faintly (effort unavailing!)
Strive we to reach thee! Thou recedest ever.
Where doth the fault lie? What hath been the failing?
Was it thine or ours? ah, vain the dear endeavour,
Loved one, but lost!
And upon the midnight air we hush our wailing;
Ghost, after withering ghost,
Wounded, with wings that shiver,
Shaked by the night-wind, a despairing host,
Lost as loosed blossoms on the bleak air sailing
Down from hurt boughs that, bitten by the frost,
Bloom again never!

Orval.
They fade. So best! Lost friends, whose liquid eyes,
That shine through swimming tears, from mine recede
Like sad stars waning in the windy mist
Night sends to quench them ... you, whose woeful arms,
Yet waving, melt upon the midnight air,
Whose voices I no longer disentwine
From the night-swarming murmurs of the crowd
Beneath me ... fare you well, without regret!

If from the world of dreams I am come down
To earth at last, it is because on earth
I find at last a world of dreams fulfill'd
In one unblemisht life's beneficence
Of love for me. God, if my full soul falter,
Faithless to faith so fair, my soul disown!

Guardian Angel
(passing above).
Keep thy vow before God's altar,
And be my brother before God's throne.

A Kinsman
(of the House of Orval, entering with Father Adam).
I told you we should 'light upon him here,
Lost in the admiration of himself.
Rouse, Orval! All thy kindred wait below.

Father Adam.
Peace be upon this house, and thee, my son!

Orval.
Peace, Father? No! In passion there's no peace.
Painters and priests have given dove's wings to Love.
They err, Love's wings have eagle plumes.

Father Adam.
My son,
Those Loves with eagle plumes are birds of prey
Or birds of passage. Holy household love
Ranges no further than the dove's wing bears
The dove's breast from her nested brood. All loves
That are not also duties, loves that build

No nest, are wanton wanderers, fed by chance
Or plunder; and the husbandman does well
To scare them off, or shoot them down. Young man,
There's more in holy marriage than mere love.
And that small consecrated golden hoop
Circling the finger of a wife, the vow
Breathed o'er it from a husband's heart converts
Into Eternity. Love takes it up,
And turns it to a sacred talisman
That opes to him the sacramental doors
Of that mysterious temple roofing all
The space between God's altar and man's tomb.

Kinsman.
That's what I say myself. Most certainly,
Love's the least part of marriage. Look you now,
Dear Cousin, at this marriage of your own
Which all of us rejoice at—I not least;—
Won from the wandering ways youth roams alone,
Fitly companion'd, taking with you all
That should accompany life's traveller, trains
Of goodly baggage, troops of trusty friends,
You enter here life's broad main highway, bound
For where life's sober business must begin
In serious earnest. You begin it well,
With all the necessary furniture;
Lord, as by these wise nuptials now you are,
Of half a province, with a princely name.
Think what you may be, should be, must be. Cousin,
The king is old and weak, and knows no more
Than a sick pauper in a hospital,
Plagued by a dozen vile diseases, each

Disputed by a dozen doctors, where
To turn, or whom to trust. Last year's new nostrums
Are all used up: last year's new minister
Totters already: and the hasty time
Wears out great reputations fast as men
Wear boots out on forced marches. You're the man,
The very man that's wanted ...

Orval.
What! to smear
My white hands with the soils of your bad work,
That's daily wearying hands, no longer clean,
Of clumsy drudges, task'd in vain to keep
This execrable heap of rotten rubbish,
You call a system, just a little longer
Than, if the wind blows, it seems likely now
To hold together? I'll not touch it, Cousin.
I will not turn state tinker,—stop one hole,
And make a dozen; by a pauper prince
Paid from the plunder of a pauper people,
And call'd fine names, for doing foolish work,
By foolish folk. No, Father, you say well.
There's more in marriage than mere love: though love,
If true to one, is true to all. But if
I march forth to the battle-field of life
Bearing love's banner, it shall be to fight
Not in the rear, but in the van, and win
New realms for man.

Kinsman.
I've but one word to say, then.

'Tis what a certain celebrated cook
Said to his too enthusiastic pupil:
‘You push the pepper to fanaticism.’
But here comes Lady Orval.

Father Adam.
Welcome, daughter!

Bride's-ladies
(entering with Lady Orval).
Love us, Lord Orval, for the loveliness
We must restore to you; our sweet tasks done.

Orval.
I do, dear ladies, and most lovingly
For your loved kindnesses I thank you all.
Commend me to the Graces, who, I see,
When Venus lost her godhead, wisely came
To live with you.

Master Andrew
(entering).
My lord, the hall is thronged
By liegemen to the Orvals, vassals, friends
And guests, inquiring for their noble host,
With voices whose impatient eagerness
I know not how to answer.

Orval.
We are ready.
Give me thy hand, dear love. Throw wide the doors.
Thou tremblest, my Veronica?

Veronica.
Stay by me!

(The doors are thrown open.)

Retainers.
Long live the Bride and Bridegroom! Louder, lads!
Long live our Lord and Lady!

Orval.
Thanks to all,
From us and ours. Fair welcome, worthy friends!
Joy's mouth is mute. Let music make amends.

Orval and Veronica pass down the hall saluting the guests. Music as the scene closes.

END OF THE FIRST EPOCH.