One-Act Plays Part 93

[_While he mends the fire, humming, THE PLAYER stands taking thought.

MARY speaks apart, going to cas.e.m.e.nt again to look out._]

MARY [_apart_].

I will have what he knows. To cast me off:-- Not thus, not thus. Peace, I can blind him yet, Or he'll despise me. Nay, I will not be Thrust out at door like this. I will not go But by mine own free will. There is no power Can say what he might do to ruin us, To win Will Herbert from me,--almost mine, And I all his, all his--O April-Days!-- Well, friendship against love? I know who wins.

He is grown dread.... But yet he is a man.

[_Exit d.i.c.kON into tap-room._]

[_To THE PLAYER, suavely._] Well, headsman?

[_He does not turn._]

Mind your office: I am judged.

Guilty, was it not so?... What is to do, Do quickly.... Do you wait for some reprieve?

Guilty, you said. Nay, do you turn your face To give me some small leeway of escape?

And yet, I will not go ...

[_Coming down slowly._]

Well, headsman?...

You ask not why I came here, Clouded Brow, Will you not ask me why I stay? No word?

O blind, come lead the blind! For I, I too Lack sight and every sense to linger here And make me an intruder where I once Was welcome, oh most welcome, as I dreamed.

Look on me, then. I do confess, I have Too often preened my feathers in the sun And thought to rule a little, by my wit.

I have been spendthrift with men's offerings To use them like a nosegay,--tear apart, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf, until I found the heart all bare, the curious heart I longed to see for once, and cast away.

And so, at first, with you.... Ah, now I think You're wise. There's nought so fair, so ... curious.

So precious-rare to find as honesty.

'Twas all a child's play then, a counting-off Of petals. Now I know.... But ask me why I come unheralded, and in a mist Of circ.u.mstance and strangeness. Listen, love; Well then, dead love, if you will have it so.

I have been cunning, cruel,--what you will: And yet the days of late have seemed too long Even for summer! Something called me here.

And so I flung my pride away and came, A very woman for my foolishness, To say once more,--to say ...

THE PLAYER. Nay, I'll not ask.

What lacks? I need no more, you have done well.

'Tis rare. There is no man I ever saw But you could school him. Women should be players.

You are sovran in the art: feigning and truth Are so commingled in you. Sure, to you Nature's a simpleton hath never seen Her own face in the well. Is there aught else?

To ask of my poor calling?

MARY. I deserved it In other days. Hear how I can be meek.

I am come back, a foot-worn runaway, Like any braggart boy. Let me sit down And take Love's horn-book in my hands again And learn from the beginning;--by the rod, If you will scourge me, love. Come, come, forgive.

I am not wont to sue: and yet to-day I am your suppliant, I am your servant, Your link-boy, ay, your minstrel: ay,--wilt hear?

[_Takes up the lute, and gives a last look out of the cas.e.m.e.nt._]

The tumult in the streets is all apart With the discordant past. The hour that is Shall be the only thing in all the world.

[_Apart._] I will be safe. He'll not win Herbert from me!

[_Crossing to him._]

Will you have music, good my lord?

THE PLAYER [_catching the lute from her._] Not that.

Not that! By heaven, you shall not.... Nevermore.

MARY.

So ... But you speak at last. You are, forsooth, A man: and you shall use me as my due;-- A woman, not the wind about your ears; A woman whom you loved.

THE PLAYER [_half-apart, still holding the lute_].

Why were you not That beauty that you seemed?... But had you been, 'Tis true, you would have had no word for me,-- No looks of love!

MARY. The man reproaches me?

THE PLAYER.

Not I--not I.... Will Herbert, what am I To lay this broken trust to you,--to you, Young, free, and tempted: April on his way, Whom all hands reach for, and this woman here Had set her heart upon!

MARY. What fantasy!

Surely he must have been from town of late, To see the gude-folks! And how fare they, sir?

Reverend yeoman, say, how thrive the sheep?

What did the harvest yield you?--Did you count The cabbage heads? and find how like ... nay, nay!

But our gude-wife, did she bid in the neighbors To prove them that her husband was no myth?

Some Puritan preacher, nay, some journeyman, To make you sup the sweeter with long prayers?

This were a rare conversion, by my soul!

From sonnets unto sermons:--eminent!

THE PLAYER.

Oh, yes, your scorn bites truly: sermons next.

There is so much to say. But it must be learned, And I require hard schooling, dream too much On what I would men were,--but women most.

I need the cudgel of the task-master To make me con the truth. Yes, blind, you called me, And 'tis my shame I bandaged mine own eyes And held them dark. Now, by the grace of G.o.d, Or haply because the devil tries too far, I tear the blindfold off, and I see all.

I see you as you are; and in your heart The secret love sprung up for one I loved, A reckless boy who has trodden on my soul-- But that's a thing apart, concerns not you.

I know that you will stake your heaven and earth To fool me,--fool us both.

MARY [_with idle interest_].

Why were you not So stern a long time since? You're not so wise As I have heard them say.

THE PLAYER [_standing by the chimney_].

Wise? Oh, not I.

Who was so witless as to call me wise?

Sure he had never bade me a good-day And seen me take the cheer....

I was your fool Too long.... I am no longer anything.

Speak: what are you?

MARY [_after a pause_].

The foolishest of women: A heart that should have been adventurer On the high seas; a seeker in new lands, To dare all and to lose. But I was made A woman.

Oh, you see!--could you see all.

What if I say ... the truth is not so far,

[_Watching him._]

Yet farther than you dream. If I confess ...

He charmed my fancy ... for the moment,--ay The shine of his fortunes too, the very name Of Pembroke?... Dear my judge,--ay, clouded brow And darkened fortune, be not black to me!

I'd try for my escape; the window's wide, No one forbids, and yet I stay--I stay.