University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Wood, Next day.
Enter Hubert.
Hubert.
How my heart throbs, and how philosophers
Would laugh to see me hurry to this inlet
Of winding turf amid the rusted leaves;
For love, they say, is like the pretty dint
In the green pasture that, with use, becomes
A beaten, dusty road! Oh, not with her!—
She has such moods to follow; she is changeful
As this tempestuous morning. What a wreck
Of spring's bright sheddings on the ground amid
The pine's red autumn-refuse! Broken life!
I will not moralize; I'll call her name.
What syllables will bring her? She's a darling,
Miniature's self, the point of space, yet all
I can conceive, all that my heart requires.
Is there no means to bring her? Hark! Be quiet,
All treble voices of the meagre season;
Here's a wild catch a-singing. Oh, the glee!

Cara
[singing afar].
[Running to him.]
Where is your friend?

Hubert.
To-day I come alone.
You must not fancy, little maid, that I
Am but another's shadow. Let me keep
These restless fingers [tries to kiss her].
Ah, it comes again,
Your colour of the bilberry's flowering tufts.
My kiss is not forgotten? 'Twas to warm
Your icy cheek my lips grew pitiful;
But when they rested there, and chased the frost,
They longed to lead up summer to your face
By kissing, ever kissing. Do not look
So harshly coy. O little, woodland girl,
I'm making love.

Cara.
I love, I love. I made it
As droplets from the great earth filled my cup;
I made it yesterday. I love, I love!

Hubert.
How shrill the passion of this tiny throat!
You loved me at first sight; so I loved you,
And shall. . . Oh, now I know there is for ever
To make room for such loving.

Cara.
Do you think
That he can love like that?

Hubert.
You mean the king?

Cara.
No, not the king. My lover is a man
Who tells me he is thirsty; I have never
Seen anything so noble in my life.
He bade me give you drink. He is not proud,
He did not make me humble in my heart,—
I leapt within.

Hubert.
Hush, hush! I shall be angry.
How dare you speak of loving him? It is
A fearful treason. What, a tiny subject,—
The least, sure, that he governs,—to presume,
As if she were a princess, to call lover
Her sovereign lord! There, there! You did not know
It was a king who showed you courtesy.
Now you will understand. You see those fences,—
The flowers that grow inside you never touch.

Cara.
Oh, yes; I climb the paling for the clumps
Of juniper, and for the jay's blue plume,
That glitters so with the black bars across:
I never heed what's written to forbid;
It is all made for me on either side
The bit of mossy fencing: that I know.

Hubert.
Well, you may snatch the flowers; but there are things
Quite out of reach, that it is wickedness
Even to want. You must be dutiful,
And glad to fill your pitcher for the king,
When he rides down the forest; but to dream
That you could marry him! His mate is chosen
In Millicent, a noble lady, honoured
By all the people. Do not grow so black
Across this forehead,—such a withered sadness,
Such bleak despair!

Cara.
Why, you have nearly killed
All in my bosom.

Hubert.
Sit upon these logs,
Against my arm, and let me tell you, child,
As you have loved in silly ignorance
One who could never give the least return,
Who dare not, and who would not; I have loved
Less madly, but with passion like to yours,
You, only you.

Cara.
I hate her.

Hubert.
God above!
You startled me with that short virulence,
Those grinding teeth. Be silent, wicked lass.

Cara.
Cara would slay her.

Hubert.
Oh, is that your name?
How lovely and enticing; why, the winds
Are heart-tied to the sound. Cara, be gentle,
Put by this dreary wrath, and let me kiss
The loathsome curses from your lips. Come, come,
Ripple the mouth to beauty, let these eyes
Take on their vanished glances.

Cara.
He is mine;
A thief has hold of him, my own, my own,
My king, my love, my love!

Hubert.
He never was,
Never will be your love. This is the nonsense
That women, who know nothing of the world,
Prate to their narrow souls. The king would laugh
To hear you chirp such folly.

Cara
[springing from Hubert, and standing apart].
It's more wicked
Than anything that's done. I know what hurts.
I plucked once a big bough of apple-bloom;
I wanted it to hold down in my frock,
And smell; they said it was too good for me,
I should have let the apple-tree alone
To be of use in autumn. All my pleasure
Was robbed,—they tried to snatch the bough away;
I ran and buried it, for I was glad
It should be wet and grimy in the soil.
It is so dreadful to make anything
That springs up in the heart seem black and wicked;
And it is such a lie! The king would laugh?
He had a still, grave face; I am quite sure
That he would never laugh at anything
So terrible and sudden. Why, the oak
Has a white, bony bough amid the leaves;
That's where the lightning struck. I do not laugh,
I think what it must suffer 'neath the green,
So scathed and ugly.

Hubert.
Cara, do not put
Such hatred in your eyes; if the great lady
Who loves the king—

Cara.
Great ladies cannot love.
You must be poor and famished to be hungry;
No crust at home, and all the whortles picked
Before you reach the common—then the tears
Come choking. It's when everything is gone!
Why should I live?

Hubert.
O Cara, for his friend.
Remember, I am here; and if you love
The king, would live for him, you must include
His cherished comrade Hubert in affection,
For I am half of Almund, and would die
To do him service.

Cara.
Then you are not spiteful?
I thought you snatched the cup away to keep
My lover thirsty.

Hubert.
Dearest, but to plague,
And daunt your pretty eagerness, that seemed
Excessive to a stranger.

Cara.
But I knew
All through me that I loved him.

Hubert.
See, this cloak,
And ring, blood-red, were his. Ah, swiftest kisses
Light on these senseless objects. Will you, Cara,
Touch what he never cared for, and refuse
The least caress to what he holds most dear,
His living friend, myself? [She kisses him.]
Divine the freshness,
The firm assault, the intrepidity
Of this short kiss! Until I marry her,
'Twill be a smarting memory.

Cara.
He loves you,
Have you not all you want?

Hubert.
No; for I long
To take you to my arms.

Cara.
Are you not filled
With everything you need? I want and weary
Simply because you said he did not love,
And could not love me.

Hubert.
Terrible the tears
That cannot gather, but are in the look!
Child, will you take this ring he used to wear,
And think of me as giving it?

Cara.
Oh, sir,
I'll never lose it.

Hubert.
Hold the finger out;
Now you are my betrothed. Love, are you faint?

Cara.
I felt it like his grasp, his claim; my body
Was frightened with its joy.

Hubert
[aside].
Only his chiding
Can end this strange distraction. On her hand
The crimson jewel, like the winkling red
Upon the hazel, seems familiar, settled
Where it should fitly be.—Think you are mine
Now that I leave you lonely.

[Going.]
Cara.
Gentleman—

Hubert.
No, Cara, I am Hubert.

Cara.
If you meet him,
Oh, tell him I am his, a weary child,
Tired out since yesterday.
[Exit Hubert mournfully.]
I'll go along
The wood, and say it over to myself,
He cannot, cannot love me; but I know
Deep in my heart he does. There was a gift—
The king had something for me in his eyes;
And when he waved good-bye. . . I am quite sure
God made him for me; he will come again.

[Exit.]