 | Broken Hearts |  |
ACT II.
Scene, same as Act I. Time, Sunrise.Enter Mousta, cautiously.
Mous.
I left him sleeping soundly in my hut,
He did not drink the wine—but still he sleeps.
(Producing veil.)
I stole it from his pillow! Here's a prize!
Poor devil that I am—whose only hope
Of meeting other men on equal terms,
Lies in his chance of keeping out of sight!
Ha! someone comes. I'll hide thee carefully.
[Places it under a stone of dial.
Some day, maybe, thou'lt do as much for me!
Enter Florian, angrily.
Flor.
So here you are: I've sought you everywhere—
Mous.
Ay, I am here. You're early from your bed—
Well, it's no bed for such fine folk as you;
I'm very sorry, but 'twas all I had.
Flor.
The bed was well enough. I have been robbed.
Mous.
Ay, ay? And how was that?
18
There is a thief
Upon this isle.
Mous.
It's very possible.
When people come and go invisibly,
It's hard to say who is or is not here.
What has the villain robbed? a woman's heart?
Two women's hearts? How many women's hearts?
If there's a thief here, it is you or I,
It comes to that. Now, what is it you've lost?
Flor.
My Talisman.
Mous.
Your Talisman? Oh ho!
Flor.
I see no cause for jest.
Mous.
You don't? Observe—
A prince, or someone who so styles himself,
With power to make himself invisible,
Employs that power to gain admission to
An isle where certain maidens dwell—when there
His Talisman is stolen and he stands
Revealed before their eyes—the helpless butt
Of all their ridicule, with naught to say
But “Ladies, pray forgive me—I had thought
To enter unobserved—to wander here
And watch your movements—also unobserved;
And when grown weary of this novel sport
To take my leave of you—still unobserved,
But as I've failed, so pray you pardon me.”
And off he goes, his tail between his legs,
Like a well-beaten hound!
Flor.
(seizing him).
Misshapen imp,
Have you so little care for such dog-life
As warms your twisted carcase, that you dare
To bandy jests with me?
Mous.
Release me, sir!
Had I your Talisman, do you suppose
I should be here before your eyes? No, no—
Whovever has the veil is using it.
There are but six of us, besides myself.
If one of those is missing, why, be sure
That one hath taken it. I'll go and see.
[Exit Mousta.
Flor.
The imp is right, and yet the Talisman
Was safe with me last night. But, who comes here!
Confusion! 'tis Vavir. I shall be seen!
Where can I hide myself?
19
Vav.
Kind Heaven protect me!
Who art thou, and what dost thou on this isle?
Flor.
Fair maiden, have no fear. I am a knight,
Sworn on the sacred code of Chivalry,
To hold all womankind in reverence.
Listen, and I will tell thee all—
Vav.
(who has recognized his voice, kneels as in adoration.)
No need!
Thy voice hath told me all! I know thee now!
Oh, foolish heart, be still, for all is well—
He will not harm thee; this is he whose words,
Through the still watches of the long, long night,
Rang like a mighty clarion in mine ears,
“Vavir, I love thee with my whole, whole heart!”
Thou art the messenger of hope and life,
For Heaven hath not bestowed this joy on me
To take me from it. Yes, I am to live!
Flor.
(raising her).
Why, Heaven forgive me, maiden—can it be
That thou hast loved this dial of thine with love
Akin to that which women bear to men?
Vav.
Ay, that I have, as I've a soul to save!
Why, I have sat for hours and clung to it,
Until I half believed I felt a heart
Beating within its frame—and as I clung
Methought I drew both warmth and life from it!
I wondered then that such a thing could be—
Oh, my dear love, I do not wonder now! (Embracing him.)
Flor.
(aside).
God help thee, gentle maid! I little thought
My heedless words, conceived in arrant jest,
Chimed in so aptly with thy fantasies!
(Aloud.)
Be not deceived;
I am a mortal like thyself, in all
Except thine innocence!—A sinning man,
Unworthy of thy love. Be not deceived.
Vav.
I know thee, and I love thee as thou art—
Not as the Spirit of my nightly dreams,
But as thou art—a man of Life and Death.
Flor.
Hast thou then seen a Spirit in thy dreams?
20
I have—the Spirit of the Sun-dial—
A godlike form of fearful excellence,
Clad, like the Sun, in golden panoply—
His head surmounted with a diadem
That shed eternal rays—and, in his hand,
A mighty javelin of gold and fire.
So pictured I the Sun's Ambassador—
A god to worship—not a man to love! (Leaning on his breast.)
I had not guessed at half my happiness!
Flor.
(aside).
Now, by my knighthood, I would give ten years—
To find some way to break the truth to her!
Vav.
Time was when I was very glad to die;
I did not fear what others seem to fear.
I have heard say that brave, stout-hearted men,
Whose reckless valour has withstood the test
Of many a battle-plain, will quail and blanch
Brought face to face with unexpected death.
I am a poor weak girl, whose fluttering heart
Quakes at the rustle of a leaf, and yet
I did not fear to die—I prayed to die!
But now thou hast so bound me to the earth,
Thou, oh my first, my last, my only love,
I dare not think of death! Oh, let me live,
My life is in thine hands—Oh, let me live!
Flor.
Yes, thou shalt live, Vavir, so have no fear.
Vav.
Thou wilt not leave me?
Flor.
Only for a while;
I will return to thee.
Vav.
So, hand in hand
We shall grow old, and die, still hand in hand?
Flor.
Yes, ever hand in hand.
Vav.
Oh, gentle Heaven,
I have more happiness than I can bear!
[Exit Vavir.
Flor.
Poor soul, what shall I say? To tell her now
Would be to kill her!
[Pauses irresolute, then exit.
Enter Mousta, watching them.
Mous.
Oh, ho! young knight! I'm sorry for Vavir!
Well, it concerns me not: the girl is fair;
And traps are set for her because she's fair,
21
Good looks
Should pay some penalty—that's only fair.
Better be such as I am, after all;
No one sets traps for me. Ha! who comes here?
The Lady Hilda, parting from Vavir—
Come forth, my Talisman, the time has come
To test thy power.
[Takes veil from behind stone as Hilda enters hurriedly. He winds it about his head.
Hil.
Oh, Spirit of the Well,
I've wondrous news! The poor enchanted soul,
Till now entombed within the sun-dial,
Hath taken human form!
Oh, gentle spirit, grant my trembling prayer,
If thou hast power to quit thy silver stream
And stand in human form before mine eyes,
Then by my long and faithful love, I pray
That thou wilt suffer me to see thy face!
[Mousta hobbles across behind the fountain, and replies as Florian.
Mous.
Yes, I can take such form, but press me not—
Hil.
And wherefore not?
Mous.
I dare not show myself
Lest all thy love should fade?
Hil.
Ah, have no fear,
My love runs with my life.
Mous.
So women say,
Who live but once, yet love a dozen times!
Hil.
I am not such as they!
Mous.
I know it well—
Hil.
Then let me see thy face—but once—but once—
Then thou shalt hie thee to thy well again
For ever if thou wilt!
Mous.
That may not be—
Once seen in human form I must remain
A man—with more than man's infirmities,
I am no shapely spirit framed to catch
A woman's fancy—I am roughly hewn—
Somewhat uncouth—misshapen, some might say—
Dost thou not fear to look on me?
Hil.
No, no.
22
Mous.
But stay—
Thou hast a serving man—a crumpled wretch—
One-eyed and lame—but passing honest—say
That I am such a twisted thing as he?
What then?
Hil.
(tenderly).
Oh, Spirit of the Well, fear not,
My love is not a thing of yesterday;
Nor does it spring from thought of face and form.
I love thee for thy boundless charity,
That seeks no recompense—doing good works
In modest silence from the very love
Of doing good—bestowing life and strength
On high and low, on rich and poor alike;
Embracing in thy vast philosophy,
All creeds, all nations, and all ranks of men!
Holding thyself to be no higher than
The meanest wretch who claims thy charity,
Yet holding none to be of such account
As to deserve thine homage. Just to all,
Lovely in all thy modest deeds of good,
Excelling type of godliest charity,
Show thyself in whatever form thou wilt,
Oh, Spirit of the Well,
And I perforce must love thee!
Mous.
Be it so!
Thou shalt behold me as I am. But first,
Ere I do that which cannot be undone,
Give me a solemn token that shall serve
As evidence of troth twixt thee and me.
Hil.
Dost thou still doubt me then?
Mous.
I doubt myself—
I doubt my rugged form, my rough-hewn face,
My crumpled limbs!—See, lady, I exchange
My immortality for Life and Death,
My demi-godhead for the state of Man—
Man, undersized and crippled, and accurst!
All this I do for thee—Let me be sure
That when I've done all this, thou wilt not cry,
“Away, distorted thing,
“My love is not for such a one as thou!”
Hil.
Oh, doubting Spirit, take this sacred ring.
It is a holy relic—and a vow
Spoken thereon binds her who utters it
23
I do repeat my vow of yesternight!
I am thy bride! (Throws ring into the fountain.)
Mous.
(taking the ring out of the fountain.)
Then, lady, have thy will!
But, bear in mind that modest virtue oft
Will clothe herself in most unlikely garb—
Mistrust all prejudice—well-favoured hearts
May underlie ill-favoured heads. We spurn
The dirt beneath our feet—but never less
We grovel in such dirt for diamonds,
And sometimes find them there! A comely face
Is but the food of Time—a kindly heart
Time touches but to soften—think of this,
And in thy breast some pity may be found,
For the poor wretch to whom thy troth is given!
[Mousta reveals himself. Hilda, whose fears have been gradually aroused during this speech, recoils in horror and amazement at seeing him.
Hil.
Mousta! Oh, Heaven, what have I said and done!
Was thine the voice that spake?
Mous.
(abashed).
My lady, yes!
Hil.
Oh, cruel, cruel!
Mous.
Lady, pardon me.
I knew not what I did!
Hil.
Oh, wretched man!
I pardon thee—thou dost not, canst not know
How deep a wound thine idle words have riven!
Oh, heart! my broken heart! (Sinks on to ground by dial.)
My Mousta, shame upon thee for this jest—
This heartless jest—this scurril mockery!
When thou wast sick to death I tended thee,
Through weary days, and weary, weary nights,
And bathed thy fevered brow, and prayed with thee,
And soothed thy pain with such poor minstrelsy
As I am mistress of—I sang to thee,
And brought thee pleasant books to help thee speed
The lagging hours of thy recovery.
Has my heart seemed to thee so stony hard
That it could bear this deadly blow unbruised?
Oh, Mousta, shame upon thee for this jest!
Mous.
Jest, Lady Hilda? Nay, I did not jest!
Why, look at me!
24
(gazing at him).
Oh, Mousta! Can it be
That thou hast dared—No, no, impossible,—
It is too terrible!
Mous.
Ay, I have dared!
I studied necromancy—and I learnt
To weave a mighty engine for myself—
A web that gives invisibility. (Producing veil.)
Shrouded in this, I woo'd thee yesternight!
Oh, I can woo—At least, I've shown thee that!
A voice rang music in thine ears—'twas mine!
Words thrilled thee to the core—I spake those words!
Love filled thy very soul—'twas I that woo'd!
My very self, stripped of the hideous mask
In which my soul stands shrouded from the world.
I'll woo like that all day! But shut thine eyes,
Or turn thine head away, and I shall make
As fair a husband as the best of them!
Hil.
Oh, horrible! Go—get thee hence, away—
Take money—what thou wilt—but get thee hence!
Oh, madman! madman!
Mous.
Why, what could I do?
Should I have reasoned with myself, and said,
“Mousta, when thou wast sick and like to die,
The Lady Hilda came to thy bedside,
And sat, and nursed thee day by day—'twas nothing!
When writhing at thy very worst, her tears
Fell on thy face like rain,—a woman's trick!
When baffled Death was tugging at thy throat,
Her gentle prayers rose to the gate of Heaven,
Mingled with the insensate blasphemies
Of thy delirium—account it naught!
Go to thy labour—get thy spade and dig,
And when a foolish sob of gratitude
Rises unbidden to thy choking throat”
(They sometimes will—one can't be sure of them),
“Swear a big oath and whistle it away,
Lest it take root and blossom into love!”
Was this my duty, think ye? No, no, no,
My body's twisted, lady, not my heart.
Hil.
(with forced calmness).
But say that, bound in duty to the troth
That thou hast wrung from me, I taught myself
I will not say to love—to bear with thee—
How could I hope to live at peace with one
25
A Talisman that vests in him the power,
To come to me and go from me, unseen,
And play the truant at his own free will?
Thou askest more than womankind can grant.
Mous.
(trembling with excitement).
Oh, lady, lady, give me but thy love,
And in that gift will lie the surest proof
That I will not misuse my Talisman!
Hil.
It may be so—but Time's an alchymist,
Who changes gold to dross. Some day, may be,
This love of thine will sicken, wane, and die.
How could I bear this widowhood of soul,
Knowing that thou hast power to come and go,
Unseen?
Mous.
(overjoyed).
Be sure I'll neither come nor go:
My place is at thy side. Such love as thine
Would surely chain the proudest prince on earth,
And how much more so poor a wretch as I!
Hil.
I'll trust thee not.
Doubt would lie heavy at my heart, not less
Because I had no reason for that doubt.
Give me thy Talisman.
Mous.
Nay, bear with me.
Hil.
Give me thy Talisman.
Mous.
Well, well, 'tis thine.
But bear in mind, the troth that thou hast pledged
Upon this ring can never be recalled.
Hil.
I know it well.
I'll keep my troth. Give me thy Talisman.
Mous.
Lady, 'tis thine. See how I trust in thee.
Do with it as thou wilt—rend it apart,
And cast it to the winds—its work is done! (giving it to her)
Behold me now unarmed.
Hil.
(changing her manner).
Unarmed be thou
As all should be who use a deadly power
To such foul traitorous ends! I am thy bride—
I am thy bride! Make thou the very most
Of such poor comfort as those words may hold.
Proclaim thy victory—say to thyself,
“She is my bride—I wrung an oath from her.
With miserable lies—she is my bride!
She saved my wretched life, and in return
I poison hers—but still she is my bride.
26
She loathes my mean and miserable soul:
What matters it, so that she be my bride?”
Oh, purblind fool—thy plot so subtly laid
Is laid too subtly—and the cunning snare
That trapped thy bird is laid too cunningly;
For as it made me thy poor prisoner,
So shall it hold me from thy deadly grasp
For ever and for ever! Raise thine head,
And look upon thy bride for once and all,
For by the Heaven above, the eye of man
Shall never rest upon my face again!
[She covers her face with veil, and exit
Mous.
(furiously).
Fiends tear your throat to rags!—No. no, I rave—
Hilda—come back to me—I'll be thy slave,
Thy willing slave once more! I did but jest:
My jest is dead and gone—come back to me!
I will release thee from thy plighted troth:
I love thee—love thee—love thee! Oh, come back,
And save my soul and body! 'Twas a jest—
An idle jest. I am thy drudging slave,
No more than that! I never thought of love—
'Twas but a jest—'twas idly done, but well—
Oh, Lady Hilda—oh, come back to me!
Enter Florian.
Flor.
What is this outcry?
Mous.
It concerns you not.
Flor.
Where is the Lady Hilda?
Mous.
Who shall say?
Flor.
Why, thou shalt say. As there's a heaven above
I'll wring a civil answer from thy lips.
Mous.
Take any answer that may fit your mood,
And leave me to myself. I'm not in cue
For more cross-questioning.
Flor.
Thine impish tongue
Is set awry to-day.
Mous.
(savagely).
It is awry.
Take care! But stay; when you were seeking for
Your Talisman, you bade me ascertain,
If any one were missing. Very well,
The Lady Hilda's missing.
27
Foolish ape,
Dost thou infer—
Mous.
I draw no inference.
I state the figures—add them for thyself.
Enter Hilda, still veiled; she gazes in amazement at Florian.
Hil.
(aside).
Merciful Heaven, restore me if I rave—
His form, his face, his voice!
Flor.
(to Mousta).
Base liar, know
That we are plighted lovers, she and I—
She gave her heart to me but yesternight;
Why should she hide herself from me to-day?
Mous.
Perhaps excess of joy hath driven her mad!
Flor.
I'll not believe thy tale. The maid is here,
And can and shall be found!
Mous.
Well, go and search.
And if thou findest her, why, I'm a liar—
Reward me as thou wilt!
Flor.
A fit reward
Will be a yard of steel between thy ribs,
And thou shalt have it!
Mous.
Thank you kindly, sir!
[Exit Mousta; Florian sits dejectedly by fountain.
Hil.
'Twas he that spake to me! How can I doubt?
Are there two such as he? Oh, Heaven, is this
The senseless herald of a mind unstrung?
Let me be sure.
He spake of me, who long had mourned him dead—
He told how, shrouded from my gaze last night,
He gave his love to me. Oh, gentle Heaven,
Give me more strength to bear this weight of joy!
[She advances to reveal herself, when Vavir enters, and sits lovingly at Florian's feet. Hilda, horrified, veils herself again.
Vav.
At last I've found thee, Florian—far and near
I've sought thee, for I'm very strong to-day.
Why, what a wise physician is this Love!
For see—my eyes are bright—my face is flushed—
Flushed with the glow of health. This new-born love
Gives me a new-born strength. Oh, Florian,
Place thine arms round me—let me rest on thee;
28
Flor.
(aside.)
Alas, poor maiden—I must tell thee all,
May Heaven help me break the truth to thee!
(Aloud.)
Dear little lady, yield not up thine heart
Too readily. The world is set with traps
And hidden pitfalls. Keep thy gentle heart
For one who, by his pure and godly life,
Hath given thee proof of his right worthiness.
Vav.
(surprised).
Why speakest thou in parable? Behold,
Have I not loved thee for a long, long year?
Flor.
What proof hast thou that I indeed am he
Whom thou hast loved so long?
Vav.
I have thy word,
And had I not thy word, I have my heart
To tell me whom to seek and whom to shun.
Flor.
Mistrust that little heart. It is not framed
To guide thee of itself. Like virgin gold
Untainted by alloy, it is too pure
For this rough-ready world of work-a-day!
I have a tale to tell. There was a knight
Who, as he journeyed, met a gentle maid,
With whom he, light of heart and light of tongue,
Conversed in playful strain. The maid was fair,
And he, in jest, spake loving words to her,
Believing that she knew them to be feigned. (At this point it begins to dawn upon Vavir that Florian is referring to her.)
She, pure as Faith—having no thought of guile
Tender and trustful in her innocence—
Believed the madcap knight's unworthy words,
And nursed them in her heart. He, smit with shame,
For he was plighted to her sister (Vavir, finding her fears confirmed, rises, shrinking from Florian, expressing extreme pain. He rises after her)
whom
He loved with an exceeding love, essayed,
With clumsy hint and far-fetched parable,
To break the truth to her. At length—at length,
By very slow degrees—light came to her!
Shall I go on?
Vav.
(faintly).
No need—I know the rest!
The maiden died—she pardoned him, and died! (Vavir during the ensuing lines shows symptoms of fainting.)
29
(passionately).
No, no—Vavir—she lived—the maiden lived!
He was not worth a tear—she loved him well,
But still she lived, Vavir—but still she lived!
If only for the gentle sister whom
She loved so tenderly, and for whose sake
She, in the blushing day-break of her life,
Had yielded up the world. Oh, say she lived!
[Vavir falls senseless in Florian's arms. Hilda, who has been listening eagerly to the latter part of Florian's tale, kneels, praying, as the act drop falls.
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