 | The Cup of Water |  |
Scene I.
A Terrace-garden.Enter Almund.
Almund.
Not all at once! It comes too suddenly
To learn one's youth from the sharp cry of love.
There was no preparation,—my whole body
Answers that eager girlhood. Love, love, love,
Without which we are made of the mere clay
Of the world's agèd floor! Not all at once!—
Such news of honour and of joy—to be
Chosen of God to add the master-touches
To His unfinished work: He gives the lover
His coy girl Eve to make a woman of,
To warm, to waken. Ah, those changeful eyes—
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That cheek to alter,—such an obdurate,
Untempered cheek,—and a red mouth that never
Has learnt its heavenly use. I think I see her
What I would make her; I am called to it
As tiller to his toil. And ignorance—
The bonds I made in ignorance, before
I knew there were such powers, this youth, this loving;
Bonds senseless as the winter covenant
Of frost-bound forest that, at rise of sap,
Breaks into red and olive—must avail
For life's suppression! I am still a boy,
Young as they figure Cupid, so my Hubert
Hath often carolled. Ah, the sunny lad,
I could not be his rival; and the fact,
That must be nailed through flesh and bone to fasten
My unsubmitting senses to the cross,
Is this: I am betrothed.
[Enter Hubert.]
Hubert.
Almund, the darling,
That with her wildness and her storms has made
Such wreck of my astonished heart, refuses
To listen to my importunity.
Almund.
Then do not urge her, Hubert, 'tis a nature
That must not be distressed.
Hubert.
But she is certain,
Sweet fellow, that you love her: to prevent
Vain hope, I told her that you could not love,
Being betrothed.
Almund.
Oh, Hubert, you said justly.
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Birds make no covenant; they sing and build;
There's no before and after—
Hubert.
And I think
That I can comfort her.
Almund
[turning away].
Stiff promises
And resolutions, and yon fleeting clouds
Grow golden as they travel.
Hubert.
You will speak,
And make her understand? For, were you free,
I think that I could move you, in compassion
To woo her for yourself. To see her suffer
Is just like speaking to a child that's lost;
One cannot help, one cannot show the way,
And she keeps sobbing.
Almund.
I will go to her.
Hubert.
You must not break her heart.
Almund.
By noon to-morrow
I'll yield her to more tender guardianship.
Oh, Hubert, it is sweet to be beloved—
'Tis to be born again, and find the world
Waiting the senses' pleasure, at one's feet.
It never hath been known how women love;
But those unpractised lips let fall a secret
Most terrible, transforming. Can you bear
The pressure of such passion?
Hubert.
You forget,
Dear Almund, that she gave the cup to you.
Tis not for Hubert to be much beloved,
Nor is he covetous; 'tis but to soothe her
I ask your intervention. Did I think
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Will-breaking words—
Almund.
I shall be just and patient.
Come to the woods, and you will find it quelled,
This pitiful rebellion.
Hubert.
Plead with her!
To you, love is a duty; but your friend
Is bold to promise summer to his wife,
That shall creep lingering round the agèd years
And recreate them golden.
Almund.
I will offer
No blandishments;—an error to correct,
An ignorance, and mischief to remove,
And then my task is ended. Seek your bride
By that lone well amid the bulrushes,
Where I so often wander—
Hubert.
And none drink!
A cheerless place, blocked by the meadow-sweet,
And willow-herb in autumn; I remember
Your moody haunt by the mud-stifled stream,
That now must be half-spectral with the stalks
Of skeleton, grim reeds. I hate the aspect
Of that neglected well where everything
Is put from its right purpose, or forgotten.
Bring me the lass where yesterday she stooped
Her pitcher in the spring.
Almund.
Just at its source!
You shall have all your pleasure.
[Exit Hubert.]
How unconscious
In his beseeching and perplexity!
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I could be wild and wanton.
[Draws out tablets and writes.]
[To an old gardener who approaches.]
Reuben, take
This letter to your mistress.
Reuben.
Ay, sir, and happy; but she hasn't left the
terrace-walk an hour. It's my belief she spied you
coming through the shrubs, for, bless you, sir, she was
off, leaving her pruning-knife under the rose-tree,—her
hair was a bit blown on her forehead, and her hands
sort o' sticky. She likes you, sir, to see her in her best;
and I shouldn't wonder if she isn't putting on that
lavender gown took your fancy last June, with fresh
sprigs at her bosom. I say to her, the taste of young
gentlemen will change. I've worked for the great
families,—they like carnations one year, and the next
nothing but pansies will please them. I'll be up the
teep in no time; for, sir, she'll think more of this
[holding up the letter]
than of the buds on the tree that's
named after you, though she smells at the pink blossoms
as if they were lilacs in full bloom. It's all sweet, I
reckon, when one is young, and of a warm climate
inside like the vine-house.
[Exit.]
Almund.
So it should be in youth—all sweet. How hateful
Become the creatures that one ought to love,
What heathendom our past with them! That day
When we stood peering down into the stream
Together, and I smiled: Look, Millicent,
How Heaven mates us! we had brought our books
To learn by heart; but even then I feel
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And when we read of dire Necessity
I thought she had that form. She shared my studies,
The noble woman-scholar, and I fancied,
[Enter Millicent.
I fancied that I loved her. Oh, my Hubert,
Gleeful and foolish in yon purple copse,
How you will mock my wisdom! Down the beeches
The lady paces in that blemished gown
I hate the long, limp folds of. I remember
The child wore a blue, spotted skirt, and apron
Sprinkled with berries. Well, there are three yards
Betwixt us still. Better at once begin.
Now she is nearer I discern a smile
Irrelevantly silver on her brow;
I hate such unwooed shining.—Millicent,
There is not any reason in the world
Why we should not be married?
Millicent.
But this query,
Abrupt, and so impulsive, furnishes
Sufficient reason. I would have you wait
Until you are a man.
Almund.
To love you better?
Oh, that can never be! You ask too much;
For the boy's adoration cannot wear
On into manhood.
Millicent.
But I dreamed, beloved,
That something fairer would remain, a rose
Of June, when all spring's flickering flowers were shed.
I have so watched you.
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And the vigilance
Were pardonable in maternal eyes,
But in a wife—
Millicent.
Almund, if I believed
The noble spirit you have made my own
Would not grow riper 'neath my wifely care,
I never would ensheath it in my love.
Dear, I must foster you.
Almund.
I shall not answer
Your foolish dreams; put by your expectations,
And let me play my part: we lived retired,
But my year's kingship has already taught me
I cannot be a vessel to be moulded
By any woman's will. I shall become
Another being as the years increase,
And your fond worship of my youth will vex
As any ancient, lapsed idolatry.
You too must change.
Millicent.
The stream will darken, dear,
Infallibly, if there are clouds o'erhead.
Almund.
I mean, I do not ask you to desire
Always my highest good—you must remember
If you are married to me, we shall meet
Not in elected moments, but in moods
Often discordant; you will find me sullen,
Morose, reserved, and must not diet me
With simples from your herbal: ask no questions,
Imagine nothing: let me find you merry,
If I need merriment, sad, when I grieve.
I speak thus frankly to prevent mistake,
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As we must be at once. The northern tribes
Have broken on us. I would leave a queen
To guard my kingdom.
Millicent.
Whom you will not trust
To rule your heart.
Almund.
Not the despotic way;
I must be free and irresponsible.
Is it so slight a thing that I can leave you
Sole regent of my kingdom? Would you rather
Sway my caprices than be made the mistress
And governor of all that I possess?
'Tis an unqueenlike choice.
Millicent.
I have not made it;
We must no more interpret what the other
Suffers, or fails to suffer.
Almund.
Many things
Disturb me. Hubert, my supremest soldier,
Is changed and petulant.
Millicent.
What ails your Hubert?
Almund.
He's deep in love.
Millicent.
For the three thousandth time?
Almund.
Once, as death strikes; one cannot tell before!—
The difference 'twixt innocence and guilt,
'Twixt peace and wildest ferment! Hubert loves
A forester's young daughter, and to-morrow
I go to bid her marry him: she's wilful.
Millicent.
You speak from knowledge; you have looked on her.
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She gave us drink as we rode down the wood.
To see his pride fall off him! He forgot
She was a peasant; the bright, naked feet
Were beautiful to him, and the wild hair,
That brushed one as she stooped,—no pony's mane
Is rougher, and our Hubert loves to see
A lady's tresses subject to her art;
Yet when this woodland lass—
Millicent.
You do not name her.
Almund.
She has no name, one does not think of that;
She carols like a bird—to Hubert's ear;
One holds one's breath to listen. He neglected
To ask her name.
Millicent.
Almund, you are quite certain
That she will love him?
Almund.
'Tis enough for woman
To be beloved; she never must put forth
Her powers of loving; 'tis not to be borne.
Millicent.
Yea, if she love her husband, tho' he slight her,
Unconscious of her worship, she can spend
Her unwooed kisses on her babes, and give
Her womanhood's crown jewels as an alms.
'Tis nobler surely than to wed unloving,
And hate the very moulding of the lip
One feeds from one's own bosom.
Almund.
You forget
How Hubert dotes; the glory of great dames
Grows cloying and monotonous to one
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And watched her wonder at the miracle
That love was working in her. He is changed,
Humbled and changed; but we will do him honour;
He shall be made an earl.
Millicent.
Simply for winning
His heart's desire—such conduct needs reward?
Nay, if the king himself had coveted
This girl—suppose it possible—and yet,
For sake of his pre-contract with a princess,
Renounced her, I indeed should count him worthy
Of gravest admiration. 'Tis not noble
To stoop from our conditions, which involve
Our duties; to forego, for sake of them,
Some pleasure that would tempt us from our place,
Would give a kingly impress to an action
Worthy a woman's deepest reverence,
And worship of a queen. Our bright-lipped Hubert
Is but indifferent to external things;
Yet this is somewhat: let us give to him
The title he despises.—And our wedding—
You wish to speak of it—affairs of state
Demand the form; but for the sacrament?
Almund.
The bond, my princess, never shall be formal.
I leave you for these wild, uncertain wars,
My wife, to be the mother of the son
Our kingdom craves: there is no greater trust.
Millicent.
Than that of regent—guardian too and nurse,
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To-night and anxious; had I been your lady,
I should have begged you to disburthen, now
You crave but my queen's wisdom I retire,
And leave you to self-healing.
Almund.
Millicent,
'Tis as you took the heliotropes away,
I love the scent of. There are fierce temptations,
And troubles of such sort as candour's self
May not give tongue to; this must be:—the maiden
Is reticent, for nature drops a secret
Most precious in her bosom; but the boy
Turns to wild conflict with the fiends.
Millicent.
A husband
Fights with a strong-armed angel at his side;
You seek such safeguard 'gainst your enemies?
My Almund, it is yours. O lovely brows!
[Stooping and kissing his forehead.]
'Twixt welcome and farewell there is but little
In woman's life, except she be a queen,
As you will make me. Then all's different.
[Exit.]
Almund.
How sweet a majesty is in her steps,
How undeserved a grace! Now she is gone
'Tis as the ordering sunlight were withdrawn,
And each unguided action perilous.
Yet she approves my course, my Hubert's marriage,
Even our own—I am the more confirmed
To keep our contract. Just that little figure
To frighten to conformity. Ah me!
[Exit.]
| The Cup of Water | |