Part 4
Why choose vain grief and heavy-hearted hours For her lost voice, and dear remembered hair, If love may cull his honey from all flowers, And girls grow thick as violets, everywhere?
Nay! She is gone, and all things fall apart; Or she is cold, and vainly have we prayed; And broken is the summer's splendid heart, And hope within a deep, dark grave is laid.
As man aspires and falls, yet a soul springs Out of his agony of flesh at last, So love that flesh enthralls, shall rise on wings Soul-centred, when the rule of flesh is past.
Then, most High Love, or wreathed with myrtle sprays, Or crownless and forlorn, nor less a star, Thee may I serve and follow, all my days, Whose thorns are sweet as never roses are!
CHANSON SANS PAROLES
In the deep violet air, Not a leaf is stirred; There is no sound heard, But afar, the rare Trilled voice of a bird.
Is the wood's dim heart, And the fragrant pine, Incense, and a shrine Of her coming? Apart, I wait for a sign.
What the sudden hush said, She will hear, and forsake, Swift, for my sake, Her green, grassy bed: She will hear and awake!
She will hearken and glide, From her place of deep rest, Dove-eyed, with the breast Of a dove, to my side: The pines bow their crest.
I wait for a sign: The leaves to be waved, The tall tree-tops laved In a flood of sunshine, This world to be saved!
_In the deep violet air, Not a leaf is stirred; There is no sound heard, But afar, the rare Trilled voice of a bird._
THE PIERROT OF THE MINUTE
_THE CHARACTERS_
A MOON MAIDEN PIERROT
_THE SCENE_
_A glade in the Parc due Petit Trianon. In the centre a Doric temple with steps coming down the stage. On the left a little Cupid on a pedestal. Twilight._
[_Pierrot enters with his hands full of lilies. He is burdened with a little basket. He stands gazing at the Temple and the Statue._]
PIERROT My journey's end! This surely is the glade Which I was promised: I have well obeyed! A clue of lilies was I bid to find, Where the green alleys most obscurely wind; Where tall oaks darkliest canopy o'erhead, And moss and violet make the softest bed; Where the path ends, and leagues behind me lie The gleaming courts and gardens of Versailles; The lilies streamed before me, green and white; I gathered, following; they led me right, To the bright temple and the sacred grove: This is, in truth, the very shrine of Love!
[_He gathers together his flowers and lays them at the foot of Cupid's statue; then he goes timidly up the first steps of the temple and stops._]
PIERROT It is so solitary, I grow afraid. Is there no priest here, no devoted maid? Is there no oracle, no voice to speak, Interpreting to me the word I seek?
[_A very gentle music of lutes floats out from the temple. Pierrot starts back; he shows extreme surprise; then he returns to the foreground, and crouches down in rapt attention until the music ceases. His face grows puzzled and petulant._]
PIERROT Too soon! too soon! in that enchanting strain, Days yet unlived, I almost lived again: It almost taught me that I most would know-- Why am I here, and why am I Pierrot?
[_Absently he picks up a lily which has fallen to the ground, and repeats:_]
PIERROT Why came I here, and why am I Pierrot? That music and this silence both affright; Pierrot can never be a friend of night. I never felt my solitude before-- Once safe at home, I will return no more. Yet the commandment of the scroll was plain; While the light lingers let me read again.
[_He takes a scroll from his bosom and reads:_]
PIERROT "_He loves to-night who never loved before; Who ever loved, to-night shall love once more._" _I_ never loved! I know not what love is. I am so ignorant--but what is this? [_Reads:_] "_Who would adventure to encounter Love Must rest one night within this hallowed grove. Cast down thy lilies, which have led thee on, Before the tender feet of Cupidon._" Thus much is done, the night remains to me. Well, Cupidon, be my security! Here is more writing, but too faint to read.
[_He puzzles for a moment, then casts the scroll down._]
PIERROT Hence, vain old parchment. I have learnt thy rede!
[_He looks round uneasily, starts at his shadow; then discovers his basket with glee. He takes out a flask of wine, pours it into a glass, and drinks._]
PIERROT _Courage, mon Ami!_ I shall never miss Society with such a friend as this. How merrily the rosy bubbles pass, Across the amber crystal of the glass. I had forgotten you. Methinks this quest Can wake no sweeter echo in my breast.
[_Looks round at the statue, and starts._]
PIERROT Nay, little god! forgive. I did but jest.
[_He fills another glass, and pours it upon the statue._]
PIERROT This libation, Cupid, take, With the lilies at thy feet; Cherish Pierrot for their sake: Send him visions strange and sweet, While he slumbers at thy feet. Only love kiss him awake! _Only love kiss him awake_!
[_Slowly falls the darkness, soft music plays, while Pierrot gathers together fern and foliage into a rough couch at the foot of the steps which lead to the Temple d'Amour. Then he lies down upon it, having made his prayer. It is night._]
PIERROT [_Softly._] Music, more music, far away and faint: It is an echo of mine heart's complaint. Why should I be so musical and sad? I wonder why I used to be so glad? In single glee I chased blue butterflies, Half butterfly myself, but not so wise, For they were twain, and I was only one. Ah me! how pitiful to be alone. My brown birds told me much, but in mine ear They never whispered this--I learned it here: The soft wood sounds, the rustlings in the breeze, Are but the stealthy kisses of the trees. Each flower and fern in this enchanted wood Leans to her fellow, and is understood; The eglantine, in loftier station set, Stoops down to woo the maidly violet. In gracile pairs the very lilies grow: None is companionless except Pierrot. Music, more music! how its echoes steal Upon my senses with unlooked for weal. Tired am I, tired, and far from this lone glade Seems mine old joy in rout and masquerade. Sleep cometh over me, now will I prove, By Cupid's grace, what is this thing called love.
[_Sleeps._]
[_There is more music of lutes for an interval, during which a bright radiance, white and cold, streams from the temple upon the face of Pierrot. Presently a Moon Maiden steps out of the temple; she descends and stands over the sleeper._]
THE LADY Who is this mortal Who ventures to-night To woo an immortal? Cold, cold the moon's light For sleep at this portal, Bold lover of night.
Fair is the mortal In soft, silken white, Who seeks an immortal. Ah, lover of night, Be warned at the portal, And save thee in flight!
[_She stoops over him: Pierrot stirs in his sleep._]
PIERROT [_Murmuring._] Forget not, Cupid. Teach me all thy lore: "_He loves to-night who never loved before_."
THE LADY Unwitting boy! when, be it soon or late, What Pierrot ever has escaped his fate? What if I warned him! He might yet evade, Through the long windings of this verdant glade; Seek his companions in the blither way, Which, else, must be as lost as yesterday. So might he still pass some unheeding hours In the sweet company of birds and flowers. How fair he is, with red lips formed for joy, As softly curved as those of Venus' boy. Methinks his eyes, beneath their silver sheaves, Rest tranquilly like lilies under leaves. Arrayed in innocence, what touch of grace Reveals the scion of a courtly race? Well, I will warn him, though, I fear, too late-- What Pierrot ever has escaped his fate? But, see, he stirs, new knowledge fires his brain, And Cupid's vision bids him wake again. Dione's Daughter! but how fair he is, Would it be wrong to rouse him with a kiss?
[_She stoops down and kisses him, then withdraws into the shadow._]
PIERROT [_Rubbing his eyes._] Celestial messenger! remain, remain; Or, if a Vision, visit me again! What is this light, and whither am I come To sleep beneath the stars so far from home?
[_Rises slowly to his feet._]
PIERROT Stay, I remember this is Venus' Grove, And I am hither come to encounter--
THE LADY [_Coming forward but veiled._] Love!
[_In ecstasy, throwing himself at her feet._]
PIERROT Then have I ventured and encountered Love?
THE LADY Not yet, rash boy! and, if thou wouldst be wise, Return unknowing; he is safe who flies.
PIERROT Never, sweet lady, will I leave this place Until I see the wonder of thy face. Goddess or Naiad! lady of this Grove, Made mortal for a night to teach me love, Unveil thyself, although thy beauty be Too luminous for my mortality.
THE LADY [_Unveiling._] Then, foolish boy, receive at length thy will: Now knowest thou the greatness of thine ill.
PIERROT Now have I lost my heart, and gained my goal.
THE LADY Didst thou not read the warning on the scroll?
[_Picking up the parchment._]
PIERROT I read it all, as on this quest I fared, Save where it was illegible and hard.
THE LADY Alack! poor scholar, wast thou never taught A little knowledge serveth less than naught? Hadst thou perused--but, stay, I will explain What was the writing which thou didst disdain. [_Reads:_] "_Au Petit Trianon_, at night's full noon, Mortal, beware the kisses of the moon! Whoso seeks her she gathers like a flower-- He gives a life, and only gains an hour."
PIERROT [_Laughing recklessly._] Bear me away to thine enchanted bower, All of my life I venture for an hour.
THE LADY Take up thy destiny of short delight; I am thy lady for a summer's night. Lift up your viols, maidens of my train, And work such havoc on this mortal's brain That for a moment he may touch and know Immortal things, and be full Pierrot. White music, Nymphs! Violet and Eglantine! To stir his tired veins like magic wine. What visitants across his spirit glance, Lying on lilies, while he watch me dance? Watch, and forget all weary things of earth, All memories and cares, all joy and mirth, While my dance woos him, light and rhythmical, And weaves his heart into my coronal. Music, more music for his soul's delight: Love is his lady for a summer's night.
[_Pierrot reclines, and gazes at her while she dances. The dance finished, she beckons to him: he rises dreamily, and stands at her side._]
PIERROT Whence came, dear Queen, such magic melody?
THE LADY Pan made it long ago in Arcady.
PIERROT I heard it long ago, I know not where, As I knew thee, or ever I came here. But I forget all things--my name and race, All that I ever knew except thy face. Who art thou, lady? Breathe a name to me, That I may tell it like a rosary. Thou, whom I sought, dear Dryad of the trees, How art thou designate--art thou Heart's-Ease?
THE LADY Waste not the night in idle questioning, Since Love departs at dawn's awakening.
PIERROT Nay, thou art right; what recks thy name or state, Since thou art lovely and compassionate. Play out thy will on me: I am thy lyre.
THE LADY I am to each the face of his desire.
PIERROT I am not Pierrot, but Venus' dove, Who craves a refuge on the breast of love.
THE LADY What wouldst thou of the maiden of the moon? Until the cock crow I may grant thy boon.
PIERROT Then, sweet Moon Maiden, in some magic car, Wrought wondrously of many a homeless star-- Such must attend thy journeys through the skies,-- Drawn by a team of milk-white butterflies, Whom, with soft voice and music of thy maids, Thou urgest gently through the heavenly glades; Mount me beside thee, bear me far away From the low regions of the solar day; Over the rainbow, up into the moon, Where is thy palace and thine opal throne; There on thy bosom--
THE LADY Too ambitious boy! I did but promise thee one hour of joy. This tour thou plannest, with a heart so light, Could hardly be completed in a night. Hast thou no craving less remote than this?
PIERROT Would it be impudent to beg a kiss?
THE LADY I say not that: yet prithee have a care! Often audacity has proved a snare. How wan and pale do moon-kissed roses grow-- Dost thou not fear my kisses, Pierrot?
PIERROT As one who faints upon the Libyan plain Fears the oasis which brings life again!
THE LADY Where far away green palm trees seem to stand May be a mirage of the wreathing sand.
PIERROT Nay, dear enchantress, I consider naught, Save mine own ignorance, which would be taught.
THE LADY Dost thou persist?
PIERROT I do entreat this boon!
[_She bends forward, their lips meet: she withdraws with a petulant shiver. She utters a peal of clear laughter._]
THE LADY Why art thou pale, fond lover of the moon?
PIERROT Cold are thy lips, more cold than I can tell Yet would I hang on them, thine icicle! Cold is thy kiss, more cold than I could dream Arctus sits, watching the Boreal stream: But with its frost such sweetness did conspire That all my veins are filled with running fire; Never I knew that life contained such bliss As the divine completeness of a kiss.
THE LADY Apt scholar! so love's lesson has been taught, Warning, as usual, has gone for naught.
PIERROT Had all my schooling been of this soft kind, To play the truant I were less inclined. Teach me again! I am a sorry dunce-- I never knew a task by conning once.
THE LADY Then come with me! below this pleasant shrine Of Venus we will presently recline, Until birds' twitter beckon me away To mine own home, beyond the milky-way. I will instruct thee, for I deem as yet Of Love thou knowest but the alphabet.
PIERROT In its sweet grammar I shall grow most wise, If all its rules be written in thine eyes.
[_The lady sits upon a step of the temple, And Pierrot leans upon his elbow at her feet, regarding her._]
PIERROT Sweet contemplation! how my senses yearn To be thy scholar always, always learn. Hold not so high from me thy radiant mouth, Fragrant with all the spices of the South; Nor turn, O sweet! thy golden face away, For with it goes the light of all my day. Let me peruse it, till I know by rote Each line of it, like music, note by note; Raise thy long lashes, Lady! smile again: These studies profit me.
[_Taking her hand._]
THE LADY Refrain, refrain!
PIERROT [_With passion._] I am but studious, so do not stir; Thou art my star, I thine astronomer! Geometry was founded on thy lip.
[_Kisses her hand._]
THE LADY This attitude becomes not scholarship! Thy zeal I praise; but, prithee, not so fast, Nor leave the rudiments until the last. Science applied is good, but 'twere a schism To study such before the catechism, Bear thee more modestly, while I submit Some easy problems to confirm thy wit.
PIERROT In all humility my mind I pit Against her problems which would test my wit.
THE LADY [_Questioning him from a little book bound deliciously in vellum._] What is Love? Is it a folly, Is it mirth, or melancholy? Joys above, Are there many, or not any? What is love?
PIERROT [_Answering in a very humble attitude of scholarship._] If you please, A most sweet folly! Full of mirth and melancholy; Both of these! In its sadness worth all gladness, If you please!
THE LADY Prithee where, Goes Love a-hiding? Is he long in his abiding Anywhere? Can you bind him when you find him; Prithee, where?
PIERROT With spring days Love comes and dallies: Upon the mountains, through the valleys Lie Love's ways. Then he leaves you and deceives you In spring days.
THE LADY Thine answers please me: 'tis thy turn to ask. To meet thy questioning be now my task.
PIERROT Since I know thee, dear Immortal, Is my heart become a blossom, To be worn upon thy bosom. When thou turn me from this portal, Whither shall I, hapless mortal, Seek love out and win again Heart of me that thou retain?
THE LADY In and out the woods and valleys, Circling, soaring like a swallow, Love shall flee and thou shalt follow: Though he stops awhile and dallies, Never shalt thou stay his malice! Moon-kissed mortals seek in vain To possess their hearts again!
PIERROT Tell me, Lady, shall I never Rid me of this grievous burden! Follow Love and find his guerdon In no maiden whatsoever? Wilt thou hold my heart for ever? Rather would I thine forget, In some earthly Pierrette!
THE LADY Thus thy fate, whate'er thy will is! Moon-struck child, go seek my traces Vainly in all mortal faces! In and out among the lilies, Court each rural Amaryllis: Seek the signet of Love's hand In each courtly Corisande!
PIERROT Now, verily, sweet maid, of school I tire: These answers are not such as I desire.
THE LADY Why art thou sad?
PIERROT I dare not tell.
THE LADY [_Caressingly._] Come, say!
PIERROT Is love all schooling, with no time to play?
THE LADY Though all love's lessons be a holiday, Yet I will humour thee: what wouldst thou play?
PIERROT What are the games that small moon-maids enjoy. Or is their time all spent in staid employ?
THE LADY Sedate they are, yet games they much enjoy: They skip with stars, the rainbow is their toy.
PIERROT That is too hard!
THE LADY For mortal's play.
PIERROT What then?
THE LADY Teach me some pastime from the world of men.
PIERROT I have it, maiden.
THE LADY Can it soon be taught?
PIERROT A simple game, I learnt it at the Court. I sit by thee.
THE LADY But, prithee, not so near.
PIERROT That is essential, as will soon appear, Lay here thine hand, which cold night dews anoint, Washing its white--
THE LADY Now is this to the point?
PIERROT Prithee, forbear! Such is the game design.
THE LADY Here is my hand.
PIERROT I cover it with mine.
THE LADY What must I next?
[_They play._]
PIERROT Withdraw.
THE LADY It goes too fast.
[_They continue playing, until Pierrot catches her hand._]
PIERROT [_Laughing._] 'Tis done. I win my forfeit at the last.
[_He tries to embrace her. She escapes; he chases her round the stage; she eludes him._]
THE LADY Thou art not quick enough. Who hopes to catch A moon-beam, must use twice as much despatch.
PIERROT [_Sitting down sulkily._] I grow aweary, and my heart is sore, Thou dost not love me; I will play no more. [_He buries his face in his hands: the lady stands over him._]
THE LADY What is this petulance?
PIERROT 'Tis quick to tell-- Thou hast but mocked me.
THE LADY Nay, I love thee well!
PIERROT Repeat those words, for still within my breast A whisper warns me they are said in jest.
THE LADY I jested not: at daybreak I must go, Yet loving thee far better than thou know.
PIERROT Then, by this altar, and this sacred shrine, Take my sworn troth, and swear thee wholly mine! The Gods have wedded mortals long ere this.
THE LADY There was enough betrothal in my kiss. What need of further oaths?
PIERROT That bound not thee!
THE LADY Peace! since I tell thee that it may not be. But sit beside me whilst I soothe thy bale With some moon fancy or celestial tale.
PIERROT Tell me of thee, and that dim, happy place Where lies thine home, with maidens of thy race!
THE LADY [_Seating herself._] Calm is it yonder, very calm; the air For mortal's breath is too refined and rare; Hard by a green lagoon our palace rears Its dome of agate through a myriad years. A hundred chambers its bright walls enthrone, Each one carved strangely from a precious stone. Within the fairest, clad in purity, Our mother dwelleth immemorially: Moon-calm, moon-pale, with moon stones on her gown The floor she treads with little pearls is sown; She sits upon a throne of amethysts, And orders mortal fortunes as she lists; I, and my sisters, all around her stand, And, when she speaks, accomplish her demand.
PIERROT Methought grim Clotho and her sisters twain With shrivelled fingers spun this web of bane!
THE LADY Theirs and my mother's realm is far apart, Hers is the lustrous kingdom of the heart, And dreamers all, and all who sing and love, Her power acknowledge, and her rule approve.
PIERROT Me, even me, she hath led into this grove.
THE LADY Yea, thou art one of hers! But, ere this night, Often I watched my sisters take their flight Down heaven's stairway of the clustered stars To gaze on mortals through their lattice bars; And some in sleep they woo with dreams of bliss Too shadowy to tell, and some they kiss. But all to whom they come, my sisters say, Forthwith forget all joyance of the day, Forget their laughter and forget their tears, And dream away with singing all their years-- Moon-lovers always!
[_She sighs._]
PIERROT Why art sad, sweet Moon?
[_Laughing._]
THE LADY For this, my story, grant me now a boon.
PIERROT I am thy servitor.
THE LADY Would, then, I knew More of the earth, what men and women do.
PIERROT I will explain.
THE LADY Let brevity attend Thy wit, for night approaches to its end.
PIERROT Once was I a page at Court, so trust in me: That's the first lesson of society.
THE LADY Society?
PIERROT I mean the very best Pardy! thou wouldst not hear about the rest. I know it not, but am a _petit maître_ At rout and festival and _bal champêtre_ But since example be instruction's ease, Let's play the thing.--Now, Madame, if you please!
[_He helps her to rise, and leads her forward: then he kisses her hand, bowing over it with a very courtly air._]
THE LADY What am I, then?
PIERROT A most divine Marquise! Perhaps that attitude hath too much ease. [_Passes her._] Ah, that is better! To complete the plan, Nothing is necessary save a fan.
THE LADY Cool is the night, what needs it?
PIERROT Madame, pray Reflect, it is essential to our play.
THE LADY [_Taking a lily._] Here is my fan!
PIERROT So, use it with intent: The deadliest arm in beauty's armament!
THE LADY What do we next?
PIERROT We talk!
THE LADY But what about?
PIERROT We quiz the company and praise the rout; Are polished, petulant, malicious, sly, Or what you will, so reputations die. Observe the Duchess in Venetian lace, With the red eminence.
THE LADY A pretty face!
PIERROT For something tarter set thy wits to search-- "She loves the churchman better than the church."
THE LADY Her blush is charming; would it were her own!
PIERROT Madame is merciless!
THE LADY Is that the tone?
PIERROT The very tone: I swear thou lackest naught. Madame was evidently bred at Court.
THE LADY Thou speakest glibly: 'tis not of thine age.