University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene.—Senlis. A cold evening of mid-November; the withered garden of St. Vincent's Abbey. To the left a vine arcade. At the back the tower of the chapel rises against the sky, while more to the left the hospice and portress' lodge flank the convent gate. An old nun is planting pansies in front.
Anna's voice is heard through the vine leaves.
Anna.
O crimson trellis of my vine ...
O my arcade,
With flowers all fragrance and with fruit all stain,
The freedom and the laughter of your leaves,
My prison-bower, preserve me.
Not to church!
I turn away from the dusk sisterhood
To the garden-alley and the glinting stars;
And here I'll pace,
Watching the Sisters as they pass along
From the apple-trees and vineyards to the rest
I have appointed them. [To Sœur Eulalie.]
You love these flowers?

Sœur Eulalie.
O lady, yes, a little; one must have
Something to love, a little. Blessèd Jesus
Remembers how I gave my youth to Him,
How I am His. I have no grief at all;
And it is pleasant, stepping on the grass,
To plant the heart's-ease. When it blooms next year
I may be in my grave.

Anna.
Your hope, my sister,
For springtide; I will put it in my prayers.
And my tall Lucia? Busy with her knife
High in the pear-tree! She is coming down,
Nor turns to count the poplars on the verge,
Seven twinkling trees, nor scans the forest wall.
Sœur, you are set at vantage. Does the sun
Burn low across the fields?

Sœur Lucia.
A bitter night,
Dreary for snow-fall; but I must not glance
Away on to temptation. 'Tis the rule
We keep our eyes fixed on St. Vincent's Tower
While we are pruning. Here and there a light
Flares from the city windows through the boughs.
I must descend.

[She gathers up her tools, her lopped branches, and disappears.]
Anna.
She passes as a phantom
Beneath the tower. It stands there of my will;
It is myself, my image, and the mill-stone
That I have hung about my lover's neck.
Oh, hateful! And I dare not climb its stairs
And look abroad. ... These rules! And I am foundress
Of this blind life.
[A lay sister opens the gate and passes through it.]
Breath from my dewy woods!
O Senlis, Senlis! It is shut again,
Closing me in, a captive.
Love, beloved,
My sacrifice to thee! Thou hast the world,
The forest, freedom. Oh, to hear his note!
Why are the glades so silent? In the spring,
When first I was immured, my consolation,
My joy was the reveillé. April ended,
I caught no more his plunges in the green,
His onslaught on the boar; the chase was done,
And it was stifling summer. Raoul, Raoul,
Blow me a bugle-note, the silver horn
Our lips have clung to, give me salutation,
Ride down your aspen-coverts, ride alone,
And I am happy. It is said to-morrow
They muster at Lallard ... I cannot sleep,
Not with this hope. But I will pace my vineyard
And watch the light unfurl and wait—O music!—
The stir and faëry traffic of my woods.
[The bells of the Tower clang.]
Those bells! I know that they will drive me mad.
They are the voice of madness, summoning
The crowd to a great hollow and a vault
Where dead men play at life's solemnities,
Where all is mockery and cuckoo-note,
Cackle and brazen tongue. How different
From the deep pleasures of my girding woods,
That touch one with a sunbeam, a blown leaf,
Or a petal down the wind.
They break again,
Hurling my soul down to the precipice
And crater of a void. To keep my wits,
To rouse some human echo! [Pausing by Sœur Eulalie.]
Sister, drop
The roots of heart's-ease ... Help me!

Sœur Eulalie.
Ah, what help
From one infirm, great lady?

Anna.
I have heard
The tale of your young days, of how you loved
A lawless bandit; how he loved you well,
And sought you as his dearest. You are lone.
Say, was it good to leave him?

Sœur Eulalie.
It was good.
He died upon the gibbet afterward,
And asked my prayers because I was a nun,
The one thing holy he had ever known,
He said, poor, foolish François.
It was good.
If I had given him kisses at his will,
Stolen from another, he had never asked
Those prayers unceasing that will never cease
Till Mary, the most pure, most pitiful
And holy Queen receive my dying breath.
You have surprised me, lady ... It is years
Beyond all count since I have said his name,
Jesu, forgive me! And it all is strange,
I am so old and weak. The snow will fall
To-morrow; I must plant the pansy-roots
Before the snow ... All strange!
[Turning, she looks at Anna.]
My dear, your face!

Anna.
You know my tale ... Ah, well! Say, is it good?

Sœur Eulalie.
It is, my Queen. The plants shall lie about,
And I will reason with you. Though we hear
Stories to make us shiver of the deeds
Our Count and his abandoned wife commit,
Yet think ... My François murdered, stole, blasphemed,
Before he sought my prayers to save his soul;
Then, Heaven be praised, he sought them.

Anna.
[Low, as to herself.]
But for me,
I am discouraged to the very bone.
I reared this tower, I gave these silver bells,
Yet now am stricken helpless as I pace
Through the long hours of prayer aloof from all
This life that I have moulded, from this worship
That is grown deaf and dumb to me.

Sœur Eulalie.
Alas!
For his sake who may need you at the end,
Take all this pain as part of every day,
The yarn of patience.
I have fared as you,
Stone-dead to all our sacred mysteries:
It is a sickness; slowly it will pass,
And leave you heart's-ease.

Anna.
I have wept for joy,
Meting the measure of my mighty love
By absolute surrender. Now I freeze;
I am discouraged to the very bone,
I have no living strength ... The ice, the snow?

Sœur Eulalie.
But after that, after the ice and snow?

Anna.
Listen! I must confess to these old eyes,
And their forgiveness: when I turn to hope,
I pray that she may die ... To think she kneels
At the little oratory where I prayed
Each morning for him; but she does not pray,
She will not there usurp my place. At feasts
She will be mistress, but she is not Queen ...
[With sudden burst of passion.]
How deeply Raoul bowed before he took
His seat beside me, how he called me France
And Russia's royal daughter! Even at feasts
I may not match her beauty; but I feel
She will mingle with the lights and not transcend,
Will seem part of the music, not a voice
The music must grow soft to listen to;
'Twas so he praised me, so he found my beauty.
And in the winter evenings when together
We looked forth on the country and the sun,
Or when I waited for him by the gates!
Does she do that? O God, that she were dead!

Sœur Eulalie.
Hush you must pray for him, and for yourself,
And then for all your enemies. But hush!
We agèd ones can pardon: out of mind
We keep these faded angers of the past,
These troubles, but we knew them once ... So strange!
Well, I must put the pansy-roots together,
And bury them in heaps against the snow.
And you will pray for all your enemies,
That is enough, for him and for yourself.
Saints, it is freezing!

Anna.
Let me have your trowel,
Your roots, and end your toil. You shake with cold,
And we shall lose you long before the spring,
A very loss.

Sœur Eulalie.
Heaven bless you! Sovereign lady,
What charity!
I pressed into the soil
So many fevers and deceiving dreams,
And sore rebellions, that I yield my task
With less reluctance that its exercise
May bring you peace! Adieu!
[Exit Sœur Eulalie.]

Anna.
So weak and old
And ineffectual—a gentleness
That makes the ice within me crash and moan,
And yet how lovely!
'Tis in winter-time
Of drear November that the heart's-ease plants
Are bedded: so she tore them each from each,
And set a bare root in a lonesome earth ...
How the snow gathers, one dead thunderstorm
In ghostly wrappings, with no voice, no fire:
And day is dying. I must fetch a lantern
Or I shall work benighted.
[She goes to the portress' lodge, enters and returns with an unlit lantern. Suddenly she becomes aware that a man has entered the gate.]
Who is this?
Who comes? I must return to Cecily.
Who comes? The ivy rocks above the gate.
Who comes? Why should I falter? Destiny
Happens perforce: it happens.

[Anna and Raoul cross each other's path.]
Raoul.
What are you,
Crossing my pathway, like a ghost?

Anna.
You come?

Raoul.
To search this convent. Aliénor, my wife,
Is here in hiding. I am come to kill her.
Say where she hides.

Anna.
I cannot.

Raoul.
By all saints,
You are a hypocrite. I shall discover
My victim in your bleating flock.

[He passes on.]
Anna.
I think,
Oh, I believe he does not know my voice;
He passes on beyond me—
To what deed?
To one most righteous, one that long ago
He should have wrought. But is it possible
That she abides here? Ah, I recollect ...
I have the clew!—My lord!

Raoul.
[Turning.]
And who are you?
Your name, your purpose? [Coming close to her.]
Well, my crystal flower,
What is the part you play? Are you a Queen,
My Countess, or a little temptress nun?
Give me the word.

Anna.
Who am I—dear, my lord,
Your handmaid if you come, wronged in your honour,
To punish treason. I will lead the way.
But first a light ... [Stooping to kindle the lantern.]

This evening in the dark
A woman crept along; the chapel door
Received her; but I have not seen her face.
[Looking toward the chapel.]
How dark and shut!
She sleeps, if she is sleeping, in a tomb ...
If she is sleeping.

Raoul.
Is the chapel locked?
But you have entry. Give me up the key.

Anna.
[Giving it.]
Then waken her. To slay one in one's sleep
Is like a murder.

Raoul.
Anna, you are cold,
These hands are far more icy than the keys ...
Some wrath is in your heart.

Anna.
O love, beloved,
That she could so betray you! Take the light;
Swift to your vengeance!

Raoul.
Guide me to the door ...
There is the siren in your voice, I falter ...
Say, Anna—we are lovers, it is dark,
And if I have your love that is revenge,
The sweetest to my lips.

Anna.
Go, strike her dead.
It is my swift command. Betwixt us twain
There is no secret moment while she lives.
Strike swiftly, for I perish.

Raoul.
But lead on;
It was your promise.

Anna.
I will look no more
Upon her face, or dead or living. Strike,
With an open-dealing justice.

[She turns with the lantern away.]
Raoul.
And no light,
Your will, but shifting Luna.

[He disappears in the gloom.]
Anna.
I would pray ...
[Facing the tower.]
How still and awful! I could wish the bells
Would jangle on my ear: through the open turret
Two stars at gaze, but no sharp monitor.
And there is peril; treason moves about
Somewhere, though indistinct. Some wrong is done
That the wide stream of starlight warns me of.
What is it?

[She remains looking steadily up.]
Raoul.
[Returning.]
But the door is barred within ...
I cannot enter. Quick, take up the lantern
And light me to my work.
You will not come?
O devil, you would have me shed her blood,
And yet you dare not see it flow. Intrepid
Your voice rang at the door; there was a moment
I thought you mine, felt I was absolute
In your soul's bosom, where you keep your God.
Do you not see, I have no other place,
No other life, no manhood ... You are dazed,
Staring at that high belfry. Off again!
An instant, you have lost the scent, poor Lulla!
What puts a woman off the scent of life
Like this religion! [Catching her wrist.]
But you shall not damn me
A second time with your uncertain strength
And eddying virtue. Come, take up the lantern,
And tremble to the doorway.

[She holds the light steadily, looks in his face, and stretches her arm as a barrier between him and the chapel.]
Anna.
Count of Valois,
No further! I am taken unawares
In a great sin. That woman is my foe,
I am thirsting for her death ...
We may not touch her:
She is in sanctuary.

Raoul.
But I am come,
An angel sent to carry her to hell;
She is misplaced among the just, and if
You would escape damnation with the damned,
Light me to fling her down the great abyss.
Unbar your arms.

Anna.
She rests beneath my roof,
The tower I raised, and, as I am a Queen,
Her life shall be untouched.

Raoul.
Fool, as her husband
I come. You knit us up in holy bonds.
She is mine, as I am hers: you interpose,
You!

Anna.
She is safe.

Raoul.
But do not turn your eyes
From mine to the splash of blood upon my cloak.
That is Count Gosport's blood, to me as water,
Pale water, till I mix it with the wine
She mixed it with ...
Anna, I took her back
To my heart and bosom; it was your command;
And there was feast and revel with such licence,
There in the halls that you had trod, I thundered
A curse on the foul hospitality,
And rode forth to revenge some ancient spite.
When I returned, too sudden for a welcome,
Too sudden for deceit, Count Gosport held
My place as host. I saw his feeble smile
Fall under in the crash of his head at swing
Of my hurled axe: and Aliénor was gone.
Now will you stay me? Pick me up the lantern,
For I will take this business on myself,
And force it to an end.
[Pressing close to Anna, and then pausing as if to question her.]
Is there some magic
That dazzles me? You put me to this shame?
You cannot understand, I have no honour
While she is living.

Anna.
She must live.

Raoul.
[Clashing his sword down before her.]
Then so,
Forever this betwixt us. Have your way,
Take her yourself; plant to the whirlwind, scatter
To the untempered wind, while destiny
Appoints her seasons. Have in all your will.
I would not wrangle with you.

Anna.
You are dying!
Give me the moment; do not think of her.

Raoul.
Aye, I am dying; and it is the blow
You deal is fatal to me, not my wound:
That was a rival's scratch. It is your hand,
Love, yours that strikes me down.
O Anna, Anna,
It is your hand; but I will think of her,
Give her the moment. When she comes to die
Lay my fair wife before the altar-stone,
Leave her a place beside me. Tombs and tombs,
Why, you are building them all round, for each
Eternal separation. ...
[Staggering.]
If you wish
My bones should rest here, since there is no ban,
They can be brought, and dust shall minister
To dust—your marriage!

[Suddenly the chapel-door is unbarred and Aliénor enters.]
Aliénor.
Ah, the clang of steel
As you can ring it! So, an instant back
I heard the summons. I am here, my lord.
Take all your pleasure with me, Raoul, husband,
Give me your vengeance; give me anything,
Yourself, with your own hand. I hid from you
While you were slaying in a general heat,
As on a battlefield: but kill me now,
Beneath the stars, as you had kissed me first,
As we had sprung together. Be it, Raoul,
My lover, my own goodly, jealous love
Who strikes me down. Let the black eyes consume
Their love in flames before my fading sight,
If you would punish me. ... Then take her home,
Then worship her and call her by the names
She prizes and I loathe—of spouse and wife.
I give her all the years.
But mine, be mine
One little moment. Utterly I yield,
Most utterly, to all your will—One moment
Of jealousy in action!
I am wanton,
Give me my wages, enter me as Death,
So you take sure possession, so for ever
You have me in your grasp.
You will not speak!
My chafing monster, you are grim for blood;
I know that clench of the hand. Is Gosport slain?

Raoul.
With all his retinue.

Aliénor.
[To Anna.]
Fair lady, see,
What rage I kindle. Can you light such rage?
Raoul, my dearest, and you sighed for her
Against my pillows, so you drove me on
To speak of love to lovers—Hugo, Gosport;
You have not taken vengeance slaying them,
I grudge no mortal as your prey. Pursue,
Track what you will, my bloodhound: keep the scent.
That is desire.

[She stretches herself on the ground before him.]
Raoul.
[Seizing her and dragging her toward Anna.]
You hold me to my oath?

Anna.
[Her foot on his sword.]
You shall not slay her.

Raoul.
So you will not stop
This devil hissing in my maddened ears;
You will not; something holds you back—you love!
Oh, for the love you gave me those three days
By the deep pools of the forest. Gipsy Queen,
Have you forgotten them?

Anna.
My royalties
Are not forgotten.

Aliénor.
Ah, you see, a saint,
Cold and invincible. She has your worship!
You, the blasphemer, stand here with your sword
At foot of a Madonna. Why, our Lady
Of Chartres, with the round, black ball of a head
Is not a whit less comely. Take the cowl,
Be monk, and play at loving on your knees.

Raoul.
I do, I will. [Kneeling by his sword.]
Blackhooded and deform
As the dwarfish Druid idol of the wood,
You are the thing I long for, and this doom
You put me to of turning back my feet
From you, from these rejecting, sorrowful
Wide eyes, and from the little, lonely mouth,
Is more and worse to me than any shame
This wanton purports. And you give no sign,
No token of farewell. I cannot see you,
Not as I would: I see the bands, the veil.
Lift up the lantern, let it light your face;
I would remember that.
[He rises and looks into her face.]
The trees are grown
Around the castle. I would know your will
Concerning the great plane-tree in the Court?
You thought it hid St. Vincent's. Cut it down,
I say; but answer!
I am passing, child,
Forth to a lonely tomb.

Anna.
To sanctuary.

Raoul.
A stubborn, little devil; but the voice!

[Anna watches him trembling, till he has passed the gateway. Then she stands steadying herself on the hilt of his sword.]
Aliénor.
He is gone. ... Why do you stand there? Is the sword
Too bitter for your courage? Give it me.
You cannot take death from his hands. You tremble,
You dare not kill yourself, nor go to him,
Lest you should kill his soul—you cherish that:
You cannot rock in Hell and put away
The scorch of the flame for kisses hotter far,
More blistering to the flesh. And all the while
He is dying for you, dying for your hands,
So white he finds them, dying for your voice
That plays upon him as the jasmine-scent ...
I know just how you play on him. To think
That he should die simply for love of you
Who know not any of the ways of love!
This is his blood
Bright on my fingers, but his death is clean
Of blood as a starved captive's.
[Flinging herself down.]
I am lost.
This weft of purple hair, these lips, this beauty,
Except he want it, ruby of the mine,
Hid in the dark unclaimed, that sparkles not,
And will no more be ruby! Wrath of God,
That you have come betwixt us with your love,
Your puppetry, your pride, your phantom words
That are not of Love's action. Love degrades
And lies and is most treacherous, can murder
Be murdered and still worship on—O Love!
[She grasps the sword; then, catching the expression on Anna's face, dashes it again on the ground.]
No, not yet;
I will not blunder. Let the sword clash back
Its barrier, as he willed in his remorse.
I see your purpose; it is in your eyes.
Fair mistress, your soft, moony eyes are dark.
I have seen the moon grow ardent; that is fatal;
It scorches with its ice. My sovereign lady—

[Catching her by the sandal.]
Anna.
Loosen your hold. What should you know?

Aliénor.
With honour
You think that you can visit him, these bands
Of white about your head, and half a nun.
But if you pass his castle-gate you bear him
Full charter of damnation. Near of kin,
Light of behaviour; and the Church forbids:
The Church will lay him under ban. ... This tomb
You live for shall be rifled by the dogs
At pleasure in the moatway. Even so,
Flung forth as any refuse-heap, O Raoul,
My own, I shall be hungry for thy corpse.
I have the jackal's patience.

[The Nuns cross the courtyard to the chapel, singing.]
Anna.
By the altar
The Count is buried. There, beneath the stone,
My Abbey shall receive him. You remain
My prisoner; somewhere there must be a cell
Where the dark forces silence.
Ah, my nuns,
My sweet, fair sisterhood, and they are singing,
Are singing with the stars. I take their song,
I join their chaunt: there is deliverance.