 | The Cup of Water |  |
Scene I.
The Wood.Enter Almund and Hubert.
Almund.
The woods are leafless, but the hazel-twigs
Are sprouting; if one hangs one's head aside,
'Tis green against the sky. Our callow spring
Is chilly, wild, and petulant so often
I am not much surprised to feel this ice
Among the pushing buds.
Hubert.
Surprised—not you!
The even tenour of your disposition
Will never own a marvel; while for me
There's novelty in every change of day;
Faces distract my humour, and the tunes
A minstrel strikes up one upon another
Ring through my blood and take away my breath
With simple fascination.
Almund.
Yes, dear lad;
It is your gaiety and bubbling youth
That keep our bond so fresh.
Hubert.
Oh, I am sure
There is no sweeter fervour in the world
Than that of early friendship, when it flows
From childhood's fount, and two unhindered spirits
Shake the same gusty tempests from their brows,
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Each day's new, yet familiar, circumstance.
With women it is different; they keep
So far apart, and do not care to listen
Unless one speak of love.
Almund.
They choose a theme,
The sole to which God deigns to lend an ear.
The racking terror one is not beloved
Once laid to rest, the deeper aim of speech
Attains its goal, and one may give one's tongue
To gaiety, as yonder babbling brook,
Babbling of nothing. Ah, we reach its source
Beside this wretched hut; the moss is trodden
Around, the starry spurges of the spring-time
Grow gold about it, and the withered leaves
Crackle above the runlet. Yonder stoops
A maiden with her cup,—and I am thirsty,
Although I did not know it.
[Enter Cara at a distance.]
Hubert.
What a frigid
And lonely look the little figure has!
Almund.
A starving daisy!—Girl, you have a cup,
And I am thirsty. Will you give me drink?
Hubert.
Ay, catch this bankside dribble for us, lass.
Cara
[to Almund].
Yes, sir.
[Going to the fountain.]
Almund.
Oh, Hubert, watch how she is bending,
As if her ear were open to some secret
Among the mouldered ferns.
Hubert.
She's lovely, lovely,
Provokingly demure.
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The cup is full.
Hubert
[to Cara].
Serve me the first, and I will hand it on.
Why do you pause and tremble?
Cara.
He shall have it.
[Pushing past Hubert.]
No, no! He asked me.
Almund.
Gently, child! I'll kiss
The edge, and then my friend shall have his draught.
Cara.
But you shall drink. It is for you.
Almund.
What, first,
When a dear comrade asks? Where were my manners,
My charity?
Cara.
He tried to snatch the cup;
He has not drunk, I pulled it from his lips.
You said that you were thirsty, and for you
I caught the rill. Drink, drink!
Hubert.
How laughable!
Almund.
My friend before me! Take the cup to him.—
[Aside.]
What passion in the hazel eyes! O God,
I am betrothed; I know it like a curse
That has begun to work. She turns away
With piteous submission; as a blast
I bend her spirit.
Hubert
[to Cara, taking the cup].
Bravely offered now,
You pretty scold! Why, Almund, there are tears
Splashed on her cheek—a tempest in a second.
Almund
[aside].
To comfort her, enfold her to my heart,
And keep her!
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Jove! I ever was esteemed
A scoffer at the ladies: this bright wildness
Of sudden crying washes off my guilt,
And I am all for love.—Up with your apron,
And dry your eyes; we only want the water
You gathered from the bank. Where do you live?
Cara.
Close by.
Hubert.
Within that hovel?
Cara.
Yes.
Hubert.
How shortly
You answer, such a nipping tongue you have!
[Passing the cup to Almund.]
Almund.
You do not live alone?
Cara.
Sir, with my father,
But quite alone. By day he fells the trees;
A great way off I sometimes hear his axe,
When I am sitting lonely; and at night
He sleeps within his cabin.
[Coming up to Almund.]
Drink again!
Almund
[drinking].
All that is left; yet all was meant for me.
Cara.
Give me the cup. I'll hold it to the stone,
And bring it running over.
Hubert.
What a bound!
As freakish as a February lamb's.
Cara.
Full, full as ever.
Almund.
I will drain it, child.
No passing on,—you see, the very cupful
You meant for me at first, at last I drink,
No jot abated.
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You are talking now
Above her head.
Almund.
Her soft look understands.
Hubert.
I love that gentleman, I am his friend;
Will you not turn, and give me but a smile?
There's a gay, little woman. Now a kiss!
[Snatching one.]
How swift a change! Her childhood is all gone;
Adorably a girl, she shrinks and flushes
The wild-wood red of yonder whortle-blooms.
Ah, I have kindled love with just a touch,
And stung the bud with light. Oh, joy! Oh, love!
Almund.
Come, let us go. I will no longer wait;
The wind is keen among these boughs. Good-bye.
Hubert.
Farewell, delicious hermit.
[To Almund.]
That is cruel!
Note her sly modesty—she waves to you,
And only you. It is a lovely method
That virgins have of hiding what they hope
To turn the other way in all they do.
[Almund, unperceived by Hubert, throws a kiss to Cara.]
And, hark, that is her little trill, a spirt
Of song, the early bird.
[Exit Cara.]
Almund.
She's immature,
And like the very month of March,—as tart,
Impetuous, provoking. It is sweet
When Spring is thought about, and is not here.
Hubert.
Almund, I love her, love her! You were moved;
I saw her charm strike inward. Do not wince;
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To have no idle fancies. She is worthy
My love, although she is a cottager?
Almund.
That's nothing; burn up all such circumstance
If you would love indeed. To ashes with it!
Hubert.
How vehement your tone!
Almund
[abstractedly].
To be beloved
Even from the very fountain of the heart,
To touch the well-head of a maiden-passion,
The bright spring from the rock; in the cool draught
To feel the virgin, solitary years,
And win access to the deep flow and current
Of the dark water-bed among the hills;—
It is a miracle one fears to greet,
A sign that does not modify events,
But re-adjusts the soul.
Hubert.
You brood on love
Too solemnly; it is a simple joy.
Almund.
I talk at random. How these catkins dust
One's velvet! You are happy?
Hubert.
Oh, I feel
That all my merriment of disposition
Was but a childish matter; the man's rapture
Steadies me and ennobles. Yet I swear
She much preferred you till I took that kiss,
And all my fervour crept into her face.
I must not tease my wayward anchorite,
Or she will run to you; that brow of yours
Seems to extend protection.
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[aside].
She is mine.
The water came not straighter from the earth,
Than she herself to me.
Hubert.
You are unmindful;
I vainly prate to one in reverie,—
Indifferent to my fortune.
Almund.
May you win her!
You are my friend.
Hubert.
I doubt not she will listen;
The small, cold cheek grew ruddy. We shall wed,
When you espouse your Millicent.
Almund
[aside].
Thus God
Severs, without the clemency of death.
[Exeunt.]
| The Cup of Water | |