BEN KARSHOOK'S WISDOM

ConstanceandNorbert.Norbert.Now!Constance.Not now!Nor.Give me them again, those hands:Put them upon my forehead, how it throbs!Press them before my eyes, the fire comes through!You cruellest, you dearest in the world,Let me! The Queen must grant whate'er I ask—How can I gain you and not ask the Queen?There she stays waiting for me, here stand you;Some time or other this was to be asked;Now is the one time—what I ask, I gain:Let me ask now, Love!Con.Do, and ruin us!Nor.Let it be now, Love! All my soul breaks forth.How I do love you! Give my love its way!A man can have but one life and one death,One heaven, one hell. Let me fulfil my fate—Grant me my heaven now! Let me know you mine,Prove you mine, write my name upon your brow,Hold you and have you, and then die away,If God please, with completion in my soul!Con.I am not yours then? How content this man!I am not his—who change into himself,Have passed into his heart and beat its beats,Who give my hands to him, my eyes, my hair,Give all that was of me away to him—So well, that now, my spirit turned his own,Takes part with him against the woman here,Bids him not stumble at so mere a strawAs caring that the world be cognizantHow he loves her and how she worships him.You have this woman, not as yet that world.Go on, I bid, nor stop to care for meBy saving what I cease to care about,The courtly name and pride of circumstance—The name you 'll pick up and be cumbered withJust for the poor parade's sake, nothing more;Just that the world may slip from under you—Just that the world may cry, "So much for him—The man predestined to the heap of crowns:There goes his chance of winning one, at least!"Nor.The world!Con.You love it! Love me quite as well,And see if I shall pray for this in vain!Why must you ponder what it knows or thinks?Nor.You pray for—what, in vain?Con.Oh my heart's heart,How I do love you, Norbert! That is right:But listen, or I take my hands away!You say, "let it be now:" you would go nowAnd tell the Queen, perhaps six steps from us,You love me—so you do, thank God!Nor.Thank God!Con.Yes, Norbert,—but you fain would tell your love,And, what succeeds the telling, ask of herMy hand. Now take this rose and look at it,Listening to me. You are the minister,The Queen's first favorite, nor without a cause.To-night completes your wonderful year's-work(This palace-feast is held to celebrate)Made memorable by her life's success,The junction of two crowns, on her sole head,Her house had only dreamed of anciently:That this mere dream is grown a stable truth,To-night's feast makes authentic. Whose the praise?Whose genius, patience, energy, achievedWhat turned the many heads and broke the hearts?You are the fate, your minute 's in the heaven.Next comes the Queen's turn. "Name your own reward!"With leave to clench the past, chain the to-come,Put out an arm and touch and take the sunAnd fix it ever full-faced on your earth,Possess yourself supremely of her life,—You choose the single thing she will not grant;Nay, very declaration of which choiceWill turn the scale and neutralize your work:At best she will forgive you, if she can.You think I 'll let you choose—her cousin's hand?Nor.Wait. First, do you retain your old beliefThe Queen is generous,—nay, is just?Con.There, there!So men make women love them, while they knowNo more of women's hearts than ... look you here,You that are just and generous beside.Make it your own case! For example now,I 'll say—I let you kiss me, hold my hands—Why? do you know why? I 'll instruct you, then—The kiss, because you have a name at court;This hand and this, that you may shut in eachA jewel, if you please to pick up such.That 's horrible? Apply it to the Queen—Suppose I am the Queen to whom you speak."I was a nameless man; you needed me:Why did I proffer yon my aid? there stoodA certain pretty cousin at your side.Why did I make such common cause with you?Access to her had not been easy else.You give my labor here abundant praise?'Faith, labor, which she overlooked, grew play.How shall your gratitude discharge itself?Give me her hand!"Nor.And still I urge the same.Is the Queen just? just—generous or no!Con.Yes, just. You love a rose: no harm in that:But was it for the rose's sake or mineYou put it in your bosom? mine, you said—Then, mine you still must say or else be false.You told the Queen you served her for herself;If so, to serve her was to serve yourself,She thinks, for all your unbelieving face!I know her. In the hall, six steps from us,One sees the twenty pictures: there 's a lifeBetter than life, and yet no life at all.Conceive her born in such a magic dome,Pictures all round her! why, she sees the world,Can recognize its given things and facts,The fight of giants or the feast of gods,Sages in senate, beauties at the bath,Chases and battles, the whole earth's display,Landscape and sea-piece, down to flowers and fruit—And who shall question that she knows them all,In better semblance than the things outside?Yet bring into the silent gallerySome live thing to contrast in breath and blood,Some lion, with the painted lion there—You think she 'll understand composedly?—Say, "that 's his fellow in the hunting-pieceYonder, I 've turned to praise a hundred times?"Not so. Her knowledge of our actual earth,Its hopes and fears, concerns and sympathies,Must be too far, too mediate, too unreal.The real exists for us outside, not her:How should it, with that life in these four walls,That father and that mother, first to lastNo father and no mother—friends, a heap,Lovers, no lack—a husband in due time,And every one of them alike a lie!Things painted by a Rubens out of naughtInto what kindness, friendship, love should be;All better, all more grandiose than the life,Only no life; mere cloth and surface-paint,You feel, while you admire. How should she feel?Yet now that she has stood thus fifty yearsThe sole spectator in that gallery,You think to bring this warm real struggling loveIn to her of a sudden, and supposeShe 'll keep her state untroubled? Here 's the truth—She 'll apprehend truth's value at a glance,Prefer it to the pictured loyalty?You only have to say, "So men are made,For this they act; the thing has many names,But this the right one: and now, Queen, be just!"Your life slips back; you lose her at the word:You do not even for amends gain me.He will not understand! oh, Norbert, Norbert,Do you not understand?Nor.The Queen 's the Queen,I am myself—no picture, but aliveIn every nerve and every muscle, hereAt the palace-window o'er the people's street,As she in the gallery where the pictures glow:The good of life is precious to us both.She cannot love; what do I want with rule?When first I saw your face a year agoI knew my life's good, my soul heard one voice—"The woman yonder, there 's no use of lifeBut just to obtain her! heap earth's woes in oneAnd bear them—make a pile of all earth's joysAnd spurn them, as they help or help not this;Only, obtain her!" How was it to be?I found you were the cousin of the Queen;I must then serve the Queen to get to you.No other way. Suppose there had been one,And I, by saying prayers to some white starWith promise of my body and my soul,Might gain you,—should I pray the star or no?Instead, there was the Queen to serve! I served,Helped, did what other servants failed to do.Neither she sought nor I declared my end.Her good is hers, my recompense be mine,—I therefore name you as that recompense.She dreamed that such a thing could never be?Let her wake now. She thinks there was more causeIn love of power, high fame, pure loyalty?Perhaps she fancies men wear out their livesChasing such shades. Then, I 've a fancy too;I worked because I want you with my soul:I therefore ask your hand. Let it be now!Con.Had I not loved you from the very first,Were I not yours, could we not steal out thusSo wickedly, so wildly, and so well,You might become impatient. What 's conceivedOf us without here, by the folk within?Where are you now? immersed in cares of state—Where am I now? intent on festal robes—We two, embracing under death's spread hand!What was this thought for, what that scruple of yoursWhich broke the council up?—to bring aboutOne minute's meeting in the corridor!And then the sudden sleights, strange secrecies,Complots inscrutable, deep telegraphs,Long-planned chance-meetings, hazards of a look,"Does she know? does she not know? saved or lost?"A year of this compression's ecstasyAll goes for nothing! you would give this upFor the old way, the open way, the world's,His way who beats, and his who sells his wife!What tempts you?—their notorious happinessMakes you ashamed of ours? The best you 'll gainWill be—the Queen grants all that you require,Concedes the cousin, rids herself of youAnd me at once, and gives us ample leaveTo live like our five hundred happy friends.The world will show us with officious handOur chamber-entry, and stand sentinelWhere we so oft have stolen across its traps!Get the world's warrant, ring the falcons' feet,And make it duty to be bold and swift,Which long ago was nature. Have it so!We never hawked by rights till flung from fist?Oh, the man's thought! no woman's such a fool.Nor.Yes, the man's thought and my thought, which is more—One made to love you, let the world take note!Have I done worthy work? be love's the praise,Though hampered by restrictions, barred againstBy set forms, blinded by forced secrecies!Set free my love, and see what love can doShown in my life—what work will spring from that!The world is used to have its business doneOn other grounds, find great effects producedFor power's sake, fame's sake, motives in men's mouth.So, good: but let my low ground shame their high!Truth is the strong thing. Let man's life be true!And love's the truth of mine. Time prove the rest!I choose to wear you stamped all over me,Your name upon my forehead and my breast,You, from the sword's blade to the ribbon's edge,That men may see, all over, you in me—That pale loves may die out of their pretenceIn face of mine, shames thrown on love fall off.Permit this, Constance! Love has been so longSubdued in me, eating me through and through,That now 't is all of me and must have way.Think of my work, that chaos of intrigues,Those hopes and fears, surprises and delays,That long endeavor, earnest, patient, slow,Trembling at last to its assured result:Then think of this revulsion! I resumeLife after death, (it is no less than life,After such long unlovely laboring days,)And liberate to beauty life's great needO' the beautiful, which, while it prompted work,Suppressed itself erewhile. This eve's the time,This eve intense with yon first trembling starWe seem to pant and reach; scarce aught betweenThe earth that rises and the heaven that bends;All nature self-abandoned, every treeFlung as it will, pursuing its own thoughtsAnd fixed so, every flower and every weed,No pride, no shame, no victory, no defeat;All under God, each measured by itself.These statues round us stand abrupt, distinct,The strong in strength, the weak in weakness fixed,The Muse forever wedded to her lyre,Nymph to her fawn, and Silence to her rose:See God's approval on his universe!Let us do so—aspire to live as theseIn harmony with truth, ourselves being true!Take the first way, and let the second come!My first is to possess myself of you;The music sets the march-step—forward, then!And there 's the Queen, I go to claim you of,The world to witness, wonder and applaud.Our flower of life breaks open. No delay!Con.And so shall we be ruined, both of us.Norbert, I know her to the skin and bone:You do not know her, were not born to it,To feel what she can see or cannot see.Love, she is generous,—ay, despite your smile,Generous as you are: for, in that thin framePain-twisted, punctured through and through with cares,There lived a lavish soul until it starved,Debarred of healthy food. Look to the soul—Pity that, stoop to that, ere you begin(The true man's—way) on justice and your rights,Exactions and acquittance of the past!Begin so—see what justice she will deal!We women hate a debt as men a gift.Suppose her some poor keeper of a schoolWhose business is to sit through summer monthsAnd dole out children leave to go and play,Herself superior to such lightness—sheIn the arm-chair's state and pædagogic pomp—To the life, the laughter, sun and youth outside:We wonder such a face looks black on us?I do not bid you wake her tenderness,(That were vain truly—none is left to wake,)But, let her think her justice is engagedTo take the shape of tenderness, and markIf she 'll not coldly pay its warmest debt!Does she love me, I ask you? not a whit:Yet, thinking that her justice was engagedTo help a kinswoman, she took me up—Did more on that bare ground than other lovesWould do on greater argument. For me,I have no equivalent of such cold kindTo pay her with, but love alone to giveIf I give anything. I give her love:I feel I ought to help her, and I will.So, for her sake, as yours, I tell you twiceThat women hate a debt as men a gift.If I were you, I could obtain this grace—Could lay the whole I did to love's account,Nor yet be very false as courtiers go—Declaring my success was recompense;It would be so, in fact: what were it else?And then, once loose her generosity,—Oh, how I see it! then, were I but youTo turn it, let it seem to move itself,And make it offer what I really take,Accepting just, in the poor cousin's hand,Her value as the next thing to the Queen's—Since none love Queens directly, none dare that,And a thing's shadow or a name's mere echoSuffices those who miss the name and thing!You pick up just a ribbon she has worn,To keep in proof how near her breath you came.Say, I 'm so near I seem a piece of her—Ask for me that way—(oh, you understand,)You 'd find the same gift yielded with a grace,Which, if you make the least show to extort ...—You 'll see! and when you have ruined both of us,Dissertate on the Queen's ingratitude!Nor.Then, if I turn it that way, you consent?'T is not my way; I have more hope in truth:Still, if you won't have truth—why, this indeed,Were scarcely false, as I 'd express the sense.Will you remain here?Con.O best heart of mine,How I have loved you! then, you take my way?Are mine as you have been her minister,Work out my thought, give it effect for me,Paint plain my poor conceit and make it serve?I owe that withered woman everything—Life, fortune, you, remember! Take my part—Help me to pay her! Stand upon your rights?You, with my rose, my hands, my heart on you?Your rights are mine—you have no rights but mine.Nor.Remain here. How you know me!Con.Ah, but still—[He breaks from her; she remains. Dance-music from within.(Enter theQueen.)Queen.Constance? She is here as he said. Speak quick!Is it so? Is it true or false? One word!Con.True.Queen.Mercifullest Mother, thanks to thee!Con.Madam?Queen.I love you, Constance, from my soul.Now say once more, with any words you will,'T is true, all true, as true as that I speak.Con.Why should you doubt it?Queen.Ah, why doubt? why doubt?Dear, make me see it! Do you see it so?None see themselves; another sees them best.You say "why doubt it?"—you see him and me.It is because the Mother has such graceThat if we had but faith—wherein we fail—Whate'er we yearn for would be granted us;Yet still we let our whims prescribe despair,Our fancies thwart and cramp our will and power,And while accepting life, abjure its use.Constance, I had abjured the hope of loveAnd being loved, as truly as yon palmThe hope of seeing Egypt from that plot.Con.Heaven!Queen.But it was so, Constance, it was so!Men say—or do men say it? fancies say—"Stop here, your life is set, you are grown old.Too late—no love for you, too late for love—Leave love to girls. Be queen: let Constance love!"One takes the hint—half meets it like a child,Ashamed at any feelings that oppose."Oh love, true, never think of love again!I am a queen: I rule, not love, forsooth."So it goes on; so a face grows like this,Hair like this hair, poor arms as lean as these,Till,—nay, it does not end so, I thank God!Con.I cannot understand—Queen.The happier you!Constance, I know not how it is with men:For women (I am a woman now like you)There is no good of life but love—but love!What else looks good, is some shade flung from love;Love gilds it, gives it worth. Be warned by me,Never you cheat yourself one instant! Love,Give love, ask only love, and leave the rest!O Constance, how I love you!Con.I love you.Queen.I do believe that all is come through you.I took you to my heart to keep it warmWhen the last chance of love seemed dead in me;I thought your fresh youth warmed my withered heart.Oh, I am very old now, am I not?Not so! it is true and it shall be true!Con.Tell it me: let me judge if true or false.Queen.Ah, but I fear you! you will look at meAnd say, "she 's old, she 's grown unlovely quiteWho ne'er was beauteous: men want beauty still."Well, so I feared—the curse! so I felt sure!Con.Be calm. And now you feel not sure, you say?Queen.Constance, he came,—the coming was not strange—Do not I stand and see men come and go?I turned a half-look from my pedestalWhere I grow marble—"one young man the more!He will love some one; that is naught to me:What would he with my marble stateliness?"Yet this seemed somewhat worse than heretofore;The man more gracious, youthful, like a god,And I still older, with less flesh to change—We two those dear extremes that long to touch.It seemed still harder when he first beganTo labor at those state-affairs, absorbedThe old way for the old end—interest.Oh, to live with a thousand beating heartsAround you, swift eyes, serviceable hands,Professing they 've no care but for your cause,Thought but to help you, love but for yourself,—And you the marble statue all the timeThey praise and point at as preferred to life,Yet leave for the first breathing woman's smile,First dancer's, gypsy's, or street baladine's!Why, how I have ground my teeth to hear men's speechStifled for fear it should alarm my ear,Their gait subdued lest step should startle me,Their eyes declined, such queendom to respect,Their hands alert, such treasure to preserve,While not a man of them broke rank and spoke,Wrote me a vulgar letter all of love.Or caught my hand and pressed it like a hand!There have been moments, if the sentinelLowering his halbert to salute the queen,Had flung it brutally and clasped my knees,I would have stooped and kissed him with my soul.Con.Who could have comprehended?Queen.Ay, who—who?Why, no one, Constance, but this one who did.Not they, not you, not I. Even now perhapsIt comes too late—would you but tell the truth.Con.I wait to tell it.Queen.Well, you see, he came,Outfaced the others, did a work this yearExceeds in value all was ever done,You know—it is not I who say it—allSay it. And so (a second pang and worse)I grew aware not only of what he did,But why so wondrously. Oh, never workLike his was done for work's ignoble sake—Souls need a finer aim to light and lure!I felt, I saw, he loved—loved somebody.And Constance, my dear Constance, do you know,I did believe this while 't was you he loved.Con.Me, madam?Queen.It did seem to me, your faceMet him where'er he looked: and whom but youWas such a man to love? It seemed to me,You saw he loved you, and approved his love,And both of you were in intelligence.You could not loiter in that garden, stepInto this balcony, but I straight was stungAnd forced to understand. It seemed so true,So right, so beautiful, so like you both,That all this work should have been done by himNot for the vulgar hope of recompense,But that at last—suppose, some night like this—Borne on to claim his due reward of me,He might say, "Give her hand and pay me so."And I (O Constance, you shall love me now!)I thought, surmounting all the bitterness,—"And he shall have it. I will make her blest,My flower of youth, my woman's self that was,My happiest woman's self that might have been!These two shall have their joy and leave me here."Yes—yes!Con.Thanks!Queen.And the word was on my lipsWhen he burst in upon me. I looked to hearA mere calm statement of his just desireFor payment of his labor. When—O heaven,How can I tell you? lightning on my eyesAnd thunder in my ears proved that first wordWhich told 't was love of me, of me, did all—He loved me—from the first step to the last,Loved me!Con.You hardly saw, scarce heard him speakOf love: what if you should mistake?Queen.No, no—No mistake! Ha, there shall be no mistake!He had not dared to hint the love he felt—You were my reflex—(how I understood!)He said you were the ribbon I had worn,He kissed my hand, he looked into my eyes,And love, love came at end of every phrase.Love is begun; this much is come to pass:The rest is easy. Constance, I am yours!I will learn, I will place my life on you,Teach me but how to keep what I have won!Am I so old? This hair was early gray;But joy ere now has brought hair brown again,And joy will bring the cheek's red back, I feel.I could sing once too; that was in my youth.Still, when men paint me, they declare me ... yes,Beautiful—for the last French painter did!I know they flatter somewhat; you are frank—I trust you. How I loved you from the first!Some queens would hardly seek a cousin outAnd set her by their side to take the eye:I must have felt that good would come from you.I am not generous—like him—like you!But he is not your lover after all:It was not you he looked at. Saw you him?You have not been mistaking words or looks?He said you were the reflex of myself.And yet he is not such a paragonTo you, to younger women who may chooseAmong a thousand Norberts. Speak the truth!You know you never named his name to me:You know, I cannot give him up—ah God,Not up now, even to you!Con.Then calm yourself.Queen.See, I am old—look here, you happy girl!I will not play the fool, deceive—ah, whom?'T is all gone: put your cheek beside my cheekAnd what a contrast does the moon behold!But then I set my life upon one chance,The last chance and the best—am I not left,My soul, myself? All women love great menIf young or old; it is in all the tales:Young beauties love old poets who can love—Why should not he, the poems in my soul,The passionate faith, the pride of sacrifice,Life-long, death-long? I throw them at his feet.Who cares to see the fountain's very shape,Whether it be a Triton's or a Nymph'sThat pours the foam, makes rainbows all around?You could not praise indeed the empty conch;But I 'll pour floods of love and hide myself.How I will love him! Cannot men love love?Who was a queen and loved a poet onceHumpbacked, a dwarf? ah, women can do that!Well, but men too; at least, they tell you so.They love so many women in their youth,And even in age they all love whom they please;And yet the best of them confide to friendsThat 't is not beauty makes the lasting love—They spend a day with such and tire the next:They like soul,—well then, they like phantasy,Novelty even. Let us confess the truth,Horrible though it be, that prejudice,Prescription ... curses! they will love a queen.They will, they do: and will not, does not—he?Con.How can he? You are wedded: 't is a nameWe know, but still a bond. Your rank remains,His rank remains. How can he, nobly souledAs you believe and I incline to think,Aspire to be your favorite, shame and all?Queen.Hear her! There, there now—could she love like me?What did I say of smooth-cheeked youth and grace?See all it does or could do! so youth loves!Oh, tell him, Constance, you could never doWhat I will—you, it was not born in! IWill drive these difficulties far and fastAs yonder mists curdling before the moon.I 'll use my light too, gloriously retrieveMy youth from its enforced calamity,Dissolve that hateful marriage, and be his,His own in the eyes alike of God and man.Con.You will do—dare do ... pause on what you say!Queen.Hear her! I thank you, sweet, for that surprise.You have the fair face: for the soul, see mine!I have the strong soul: let me teach you, here.I think I have borne enough and long enough,And patiently enough, the world remarks,To have my own way now, unblamed by all.It does so happen (I rejoice for it)This most unhoped-for issue cuts the knot.There 's not a better way of settling claimsThan this; God sends the accident express:And were it for my subjects' good, no more,'T were best thus ordered. I am thankful now,Mute, passive, acquiescent. I receive,And bless God simply, or should almost fearTo walk so smoothly to my ends at last.Why, how I baffle obstacles, spurn fate!How strong I am! Could Norbert see me now!Con.Let me consider. It is all too strange.Queen.You, Constance, learn of me; do you, like me!You are young, beautiful: my own, best girl,You will have many lovers, and love one—Light hair, not hair like Norbert's, to suit yours,Taller than he is, since yourself are tall.Love him, like me! Give all away to him;Think never of yourself; throw by your pride,Hope, fear,—your own good as you saw it once,And love him simply for his very self.Remember, I (and what am I to you?)Would give up all for one, leave throne, lose life.Do all but just unlove him! He loves me.Con.He shall.Queen.You, step inside my inmost heart!Give me your own heart: let us have one heart!I 'll come to you for counsel; "this he says,This he does; what should this amount to, pray?Beseech you, change it into current coin!Is that worth kisses? Shall I please him there?"And then we 'll speak in turn of you—what else?Your love, according to your beauty's worth,For you shall have some noble love, all gold:Whom choose you? we will get him at your choice.—Constance, I leave you. Just a minute since,I felt as I must die or be aloneBreathing my soul into an ear like yours:Now, I would face the world with my new life,Wear my new crown. I 'll walk around the rooms,And then come back and tell you how it feels.How soon a smile of God can change the world!How we are made for happiness—how workGrows play, adversity a winning fight!True, I have lost so many years: what then?Many remain: God has been very good.You, stay here! 'T is as different from dreams,From the mind's cold calm estimate of bliss,As these stone statues from the flesh and blood.The comfort thou hast caused mankind, God's moon![She goes out,leavingConstance.Dance-music from within.(Norbertenters.)Nor.Well? we have but one minute and one word!Con.I am yours, Norbert!Nor.Yes, mine.Con.Not till now!You were mine. Now I give myself to you.Nor.Constance?Con.Your own! I know the thriftier wayOf giving—haply, 't is the wiser way.Meaning to give a treasure, I might doleCoin after coin out (each, as that were all,With a new largess still at each despair)And force you keep in sight the deed, preserveExhaustless till the end my part and yours,My giving and your taking; both our joysDying together. Is it the wiser way?I choose the simpler; I give all at once.Know what you have to trust to, trade upon!Use it, abuse it,—anything but thinkHereafter, "Had I known she loved me so,And what my means, I might have thriven with it."This is your means. I give you all myself.Nor.I take you and thank God.Con.Look on through years!We cannot kiss, a second day like this;Else were this earth no earth.Nor.With this day's heatWe shall go on through years of cold.Con.So, best!—I try to see those years—I think I see.You walk quick and new warmth comes; you look backAnd lay all to the first glow—not sit downForever brooding on a day like thisWhile seeing embers whiten and love die.Yes, love lives best in its effect; and mine,Full in its own life, yearns to live in yours.Nor.Just so. I take and know you all at once.Your soul is disengaged so easily.Your face is there, I know you; give me time,Let me be proud and think you shall know me.My soul is slower: in a life I rollThe minute out whereto you condense yours—The whole slow circle round you I must move,To be just you. I look to a long lifeTo decompose this minute, prove its worth.'T is the sparks' long succession one by oneShall show you, in the end, what fire was crammedIn that mere stone you struck: how could you know,If it lay ever unproved in your sight,As now my heart lies? your own warmth would hideIts coldness, were it cold.Con.But how prove, how?Nor.Prove in my life, you ask?Con.Quick, Norbert—how?Nor.That 's easy told. I count life just a stuffTo try the soul's strength on, educe the man.Who keeps one end in view makes all things serveAs with the body—he who hurls a lanceOr heaps up stone on stone, shows strength alike:So must I seize and task all means to proveAnd show this soul of mine, you crown as yours,And justify us both.Con.Could you write books,Paint pictures! One sits down in povertyAnd writes or paints, with pity for the rich.Nor.And loves one's painting and one's writing, then.And not one's mistress! All is best, believe,And we best as no other than we are.We live, and they experiment on life—Those poets, painters, all who stand aloofTo overlook the farther. Let us beThe thing they look at! I might take your faceAnd write of it and paint it—to what end?For whom? what pale dictatress in the airFeeds, smiling sadly, her fine ghost-like formWith earth's real blood and breath, the beauteous lifeShe makes despised forever? You are mine,Made for me, not for others in the world,Nor yet for that which I should call my art,The cold calm power to see how fair you look.I come to you; I leave you not, to writeOr paint. You are, I am: let Rubens therePaint us!Con.So, best!Nor.I understand your soul,You live, and rightly sympathize with life,With action, power, success. This way is straight;And time were short, beside, to let me changeThe craft my childhood learnt: my craft shall serve.Men set me here to subjugate, enclose,Manure their barren lives, and force thence fruitFirst for themselves, and afterward for meIn the due tithe; the task of some one soul,Through ways of work appointed by the world.I am not bid create—men see no starTransfiguring my brow to warrant that—But find and bind and bring to bear their wills.So I began: to-night sees how I end.What if it see, too, power's first outbreak hereAmid the warmth, surprise and sympathy,And instincts of the heart that teach the head?What if the people have discerned at lengthThe dawn of the next nature, novel brainWhose will they venture in the place of theirs,Whose work, they trust, shall find them as novel waysTo untried heights which yet he only sees?I felt it when you kissed me. See this Queen,This people—in our phrase this mass of men—See how the mass lies passive to my handNow that my hand is plastic, with you byTo make the muscles iron! Oh, an endShall crown this issue as this crowns the first!My will be on the people! then, the strain,The grappling of the potter with his clay,The long uncertain struggle,—the successAnd consummation of the spirit-work,Some vase shape to the curl of the god's lip,While rounded fair for human sense to seeThe Graces in a dance men recognizeWith turbulent applause and laughs of heart!So triumph ever shall renew itself;Ever shall end in efforts higher yet,Ever begin ...Con.I ever helping?Nor.Thus!(As he embraces her,theQueenenters.)Con.Hist, madam! So have I performed my part.You see your gratitude's true decency,Norbert? A little slow in seeing it!Begin, to end the sooner! What 's a kiss?Nor.Constance?Con.Why, must I teach it you again?You want a witness to your dulness, sir?What was I saying these ten minutes long?Then I repeat—when some young handsome manLike you has acted out a part like yours,Is pleased to fall in love with one beyond,So very far beyond him, as he says—So hopelessly in love that but to speakWould prove him mad,—he thinks judiciously,And makes some insignificant good soul,Like me, his friend, adviser, confidant,And very stalking-horse to cover himIn following after what he dares not face—When his end 's gained—(sir, do you understand)When she, he dares not face, has loved him first,—May I not say so, madam?—tops his hope,And overpasses so his wildest dream,With glad consent of all, and most of herThe confidant who brought the same about—Why, in the moment when such joy explodes,I do hold that the merest gentlemanWill not start rudely from the stalking-horse,Dismiss it with a "There, enough of you!"Forget it, show his back unmannerly;But like a liberal heart will rather turnAnd say, "A tingling time of hope was ours;Betwixt the fears and falterings, we two livedA chanceful time in waiting for the prize:The confidant, the Constance, served not ill.And though I shall forget her in good time,Her use being answered now, as reason bids,Nay as herself bids from her heart of hearts,—Still, she has rights, the first thanks go to her,The first good praise goes to the prosperous tool,And the first—which is the last—rewarding kiss."Nor.Constance, it is a dream—ah, see, you smile!Con.So, now his part being properly performed,Madam, I turn to you and finish mineAs duly; I do justice in my turn.Yes, madam, he has loved you—long and well;He could not hope to tell you so—'t was IWho served to prove your soul accessible,I led his thoughts on, drew them to their placeWhen they had wandered else into despair,And kept love constant toward its natural aim.Enough, my part is played; you stoop half-wayAnd meet us royally and spare our fears:'T is like yourself. He thanks you, so do I.Take him—with my full heart! my work is praisedBy what comes of it. Be you happy, both!Yourself—the only one on earth who can—Do all for him, much more than a mere heartWhich though warm is not useful in its warmthAs the silk vesture of a queen! fold thatAround him gently, tenderly. For him—For him,—he knows his own part!Nor.Have you done?I take the jest at last. Should I speak now?Was yours the wager, Constance, foolish child,Or did you but accept it? Well—at leastYou lose by it.Con.Nay, madam, 't is your turn!Restrain him still from speech a little more,And make him happier as more confident!Pity him, madam, he is timid yet!Mark, Norbert! Do not shrink now! Here I yieldMy whole right in you to the Queen, observe!With her go put in practice the great schemesYou teem with, follow the career else closed—Be all you cannot be except by her!Behold her!—Madam, say for pity's sakeAnything—frankly say you love him! ElseHe 'll not believe it: there 's more earnest inHis fear than you conceive: I know the man!Nor.I know the woman somewhat, and confessI thought she had jested better: she beginsTo overcharge her part. I gravely waitYour pleasure, madam: where is my reward?Queen.Norbert, this wild girl (whom I recognizeScarce more than you do, in her fancy-fit,Eccentric speech and variable mirth,Not very wise perhaps and somewhat bold,Yet suitable, the whole night's work being strange)—May still be right: I may do well to speakAnd make authentic what appears a dreamTo even myself. For, what she says is true:Yes, Norbert—what you spoke just now of love,Devotion, stirred no novel sense in me,But justified a warmth felt long before.Yes, from the first—I loved you, I shall say:Strange! but I do grow stronger, now 't is said.Your courage helps mine: you did well to speakTo-night, the night that crowns your twelve-months' toil:But still I had not waited to discernYour heart so long, believe me! From the firstThe source of so much zeal was almost plain,In absence even of your own words just nowWhich hazarded the truth. 'T is very strange,But takes a happy ending—in your loveWhich mine meets: be it so! as you choose me,So I choose you.Nor.And worthily you choose.I will not be unworthy your esteem,No, madam. I do love you; I will meetYour nature, now I know it. This was well.I see,—you dare and you are justified:But none had ventured such experiment,Less versed than you in nobleness of heart,Less confident of finding such in me.I joy that thus you test me ere you grantThe dearest, richest, beauteousest and bestOf women to my arms: 't is like yourself.So—back again into my part 's set words—Devotion to the uttermost is yours,But no, you cannot, madam, even you,Create in me the love our Constance does.Or—something truer to the tragic phrase—Not yon magnolia-bell superb with scentInvites a certain insect—that 's myself—But the small eye-flower nearer to the ground.I take this lady.Con.Stay—not hers, the trap—Stay, Norbert—that mistake were worst of all!He is too cunning, madam! It was I,I, Norbert, who ...Nor.You, was it, Constance? Then,But for the grace of this divinest hourWhich gives me you, I might not pardon here!I am the Queen's; she only knows my brain:She may experiment upon my heartAnd I instruct her too by the result.But you, Sweet, you who know me, who so longHave told my heartbeats over, held my lifeIn those white hands of yours,—it is not well!Con.Tush! I have said it, did I not say it all?The life, for her—the heartbeats, for her sake!Nor.Enough! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test?There 's not the meanest woman in the world,Not she I least could love in all the world,Whom, did she love me, had love proved itself,I dare insult as you insult me now.Constance, I could say, if it must be said,"Take back the soul you offer, I keep mine!"But—"Take the soul still quivering on your hand,The soul so offered, which I cannot use,And, please you, give it to some playful friend,For—what 's the trifle he requites me with?"I, tempt a woman, to amuse a man.That two may mock her heart if it succumb?No: fearing God and standing 'neath his heaven,I would not dare insult a woman so,Were she the meanest woman in the world,And he, I cared to please, ten emperors!Con.Norbert!Nor.I love once as I live but once.What case is this to think or talk about?I love you. Would it mend the case at allIf such a step as this killed love in me?Your part were done: account to God for it!But mine—could murdered love get up again,And kneel to whom you please to designate,And make you mirth? It is too horrible.You did not know this, Constance? now you knowThat body and soul have each one life, but one:And here 's my love, here, living, at your feet.Con.See the Queen! Norbert—this one more last word—If thus you have taken jest for earnest—thusLoved me in earnest ...Nor.Ah, no jest holds here!Where is the laughter in which jests break up,And what this horror that grows palpable?Madam—why grasp you thus the balcony?Have I done ill? Have I not spoken truth?How could I other? Was it not your test,To try me, what my love for Constance meant?Madam, your royal soul itself approves,The first, that I should choose thus! so one takesA beggar,—asks him, what would buy his child?And then approves the expected laugh of scornReturned as something noble from the rags.Speak, Constance, I 'm the beggar! Ha, what 's this?You two glare each at each like panthers now.Constance, the world fades; only you stand there!You did not, in to-night's wild whirl of things,Sell me—your soul of souls, for any price?No—no—'t is easy to believe in you!Was it your love's mad trial to o'ertopMine by this vain self-sacrifice? well, still—Though I might curse, I love you. I am loveAnd cannot change: love's self is at your feet![TheQueengoes out.Con.Feel my heart; let it die against your own!Nor.Against my own. Explain not; let this be!This is life's height.Con.Yours, yours, yours!Nor.You and I—Why care by what meanders we are hereI' the centre of the labyrinth? Men have diedTrying to find this place, which we have found.Con.Found, found!Nor.Sweet, never fear what she can do!We are past harm now.Con.On the breast of God.I thought of men—as if you were a man.Tempting him with a crown!Nor.This must end here:It is too perfect.Con.There 's the music stopped.What measured heavy tread? It is one blazeAbout me and within me.Nor.Oh, some deathWill run its sudden finger round this sparkAnd sever us from the rest!Con.And so do well.Now the doors open.Nor.'T is the guard comes.Con.Kiss!

ConstanceandNorbert.

Norbert.Now!

Constance.Not now!

Nor.Give me them again, those hands:Put them upon my forehead, how it throbs!Press them before my eyes, the fire comes through!You cruellest, you dearest in the world,Let me! The Queen must grant whate'er I ask—How can I gain you and not ask the Queen?There she stays waiting for me, here stand you;Some time or other this was to be asked;Now is the one time—what I ask, I gain:Let me ask now, Love!

Nor.Give me them again, those hands:

Put them upon my forehead, how it throbs!

Press them before my eyes, the fire comes through!

You cruellest, you dearest in the world,

Let me! The Queen must grant whate'er I ask—

How can I gain you and not ask the Queen?

There she stays waiting for me, here stand you;

Some time or other this was to be asked;

Now is the one time—what I ask, I gain:

Let me ask now, Love!

Con.Do, and ruin us!

Nor.Let it be now, Love! All my soul breaks forth.How I do love you! Give my love its way!A man can have but one life and one death,One heaven, one hell. Let me fulfil my fate—Grant me my heaven now! Let me know you mine,Prove you mine, write my name upon your brow,Hold you and have you, and then die away,If God please, with completion in my soul!

Nor.Let it be now, Love! All my soul breaks forth.

How I do love you! Give my love its way!

A man can have but one life and one death,

One heaven, one hell. Let me fulfil my fate—

Grant me my heaven now! Let me know you mine,

Prove you mine, write my name upon your brow,

Hold you and have you, and then die away,

If God please, with completion in my soul!

Con.I am not yours then? How content this man!I am not his—who change into himself,Have passed into his heart and beat its beats,Who give my hands to him, my eyes, my hair,Give all that was of me away to him—So well, that now, my spirit turned his own,Takes part with him against the woman here,Bids him not stumble at so mere a strawAs caring that the world be cognizantHow he loves her and how she worships him.You have this woman, not as yet that world.Go on, I bid, nor stop to care for meBy saving what I cease to care about,The courtly name and pride of circumstance—The name you 'll pick up and be cumbered withJust for the poor parade's sake, nothing more;Just that the world may slip from under you—Just that the world may cry, "So much for him—The man predestined to the heap of crowns:There goes his chance of winning one, at least!"

Con.I am not yours then? How content this man!

I am not his—who change into himself,

Have passed into his heart and beat its beats,

Who give my hands to him, my eyes, my hair,

Give all that was of me away to him—

So well, that now, my spirit turned his own,

Takes part with him against the woman here,

Bids him not stumble at so mere a straw

As caring that the world be cognizant

How he loves her and how she worships him.

You have this woman, not as yet that world.

Go on, I bid, nor stop to care for me

By saving what I cease to care about,

The courtly name and pride of circumstance—

The name you 'll pick up and be cumbered with

Just for the poor parade's sake, nothing more;

Just that the world may slip from under you—

Just that the world may cry, "So much for him—

The man predestined to the heap of crowns:

There goes his chance of winning one, at least!"

Nor.The world!

Con.You love it! Love me quite as well,And see if I shall pray for this in vain!Why must you ponder what it knows or thinks?

Con.You love it! Love me quite as well,

And see if I shall pray for this in vain!

Why must you ponder what it knows or thinks?

Nor.You pray for—what, in vain?

Con.Oh my heart's heart,How I do love you, Norbert! That is right:But listen, or I take my hands away!You say, "let it be now:" you would go nowAnd tell the Queen, perhaps six steps from us,You love me—so you do, thank God!

Con.Oh my heart's heart,

How I do love you, Norbert! That is right:

But listen, or I take my hands away!

You say, "let it be now:" you would go now

And tell the Queen, perhaps six steps from us,

You love me—so you do, thank God!

Nor.Thank God!

Con.Yes, Norbert,—but you fain would tell your love,And, what succeeds the telling, ask of herMy hand. Now take this rose and look at it,Listening to me. You are the minister,The Queen's first favorite, nor without a cause.To-night completes your wonderful year's-work(This palace-feast is held to celebrate)Made memorable by her life's success,The junction of two crowns, on her sole head,Her house had only dreamed of anciently:That this mere dream is grown a stable truth,To-night's feast makes authentic. Whose the praise?Whose genius, patience, energy, achievedWhat turned the many heads and broke the hearts?You are the fate, your minute 's in the heaven.Next comes the Queen's turn. "Name your own reward!"With leave to clench the past, chain the to-come,Put out an arm and touch and take the sunAnd fix it ever full-faced on your earth,Possess yourself supremely of her life,—You choose the single thing she will not grant;Nay, very declaration of which choiceWill turn the scale and neutralize your work:At best she will forgive you, if she can.You think I 'll let you choose—her cousin's hand?

Con.Yes, Norbert,—but you fain would tell your love,

And, what succeeds the telling, ask of her

My hand. Now take this rose and look at it,

Listening to me. You are the minister,

The Queen's first favorite, nor without a cause.

To-night completes your wonderful year's-work

(This palace-feast is held to celebrate)

Made memorable by her life's success,

The junction of two crowns, on her sole head,

Her house had only dreamed of anciently:

That this mere dream is grown a stable truth,

To-night's feast makes authentic. Whose the praise?

Whose genius, patience, energy, achieved

What turned the many heads and broke the hearts?

You are the fate, your minute 's in the heaven.

Next comes the Queen's turn. "Name your own reward!"

With leave to clench the past, chain the to-come,

Put out an arm and touch and take the sun

And fix it ever full-faced on your earth,

Possess yourself supremely of her life,—

You choose the single thing she will not grant;

Nay, very declaration of which choice

Will turn the scale and neutralize your work:

At best she will forgive you, if she can.

You think I 'll let you choose—her cousin's hand?

Nor.Wait. First, do you retain your old beliefThe Queen is generous,—nay, is just?

Nor.Wait. First, do you retain your old belief

The Queen is generous,—nay, is just?

Con.There, there!So men make women love them, while they knowNo more of women's hearts than ... look you here,You that are just and generous beside.Make it your own case! For example now,I 'll say—I let you kiss me, hold my hands—Why? do you know why? I 'll instruct you, then—The kiss, because you have a name at court;This hand and this, that you may shut in eachA jewel, if you please to pick up such.That 's horrible? Apply it to the Queen—Suppose I am the Queen to whom you speak."I was a nameless man; you needed me:Why did I proffer yon my aid? there stoodA certain pretty cousin at your side.Why did I make such common cause with you?Access to her had not been easy else.You give my labor here abundant praise?'Faith, labor, which she overlooked, grew play.How shall your gratitude discharge itself?Give me her hand!"

Con.There, there!

So men make women love them, while they know

No more of women's hearts than ... look you here,

You that are just and generous beside.

Make it your own case! For example now,

I 'll say—I let you kiss me, hold my hands—

Why? do you know why? I 'll instruct you, then—

The kiss, because you have a name at court;

This hand and this, that you may shut in each

A jewel, if you please to pick up such.

That 's horrible? Apply it to the Queen—

Suppose I am the Queen to whom you speak.

"I was a nameless man; you needed me:

Why did I proffer yon my aid? there stood

A certain pretty cousin at your side.

Why did I make such common cause with you?

Access to her had not been easy else.

You give my labor here abundant praise?

'Faith, labor, which she overlooked, grew play.

How shall your gratitude discharge itself?

Give me her hand!"

Nor.And still I urge the same.Is the Queen just? just—generous or no!

Nor.And still I urge the same.

Is the Queen just? just—generous or no!

Con.Yes, just. You love a rose: no harm in that:But was it for the rose's sake or mineYou put it in your bosom? mine, you said—Then, mine you still must say or else be false.You told the Queen you served her for herself;If so, to serve her was to serve yourself,She thinks, for all your unbelieving face!I know her. In the hall, six steps from us,One sees the twenty pictures: there 's a lifeBetter than life, and yet no life at all.Conceive her born in such a magic dome,Pictures all round her! why, she sees the world,Can recognize its given things and facts,The fight of giants or the feast of gods,Sages in senate, beauties at the bath,Chases and battles, the whole earth's display,Landscape and sea-piece, down to flowers and fruit—And who shall question that she knows them all,In better semblance than the things outside?Yet bring into the silent gallerySome live thing to contrast in breath and blood,Some lion, with the painted lion there—You think she 'll understand composedly?—Say, "that 's his fellow in the hunting-pieceYonder, I 've turned to praise a hundred times?"Not so. Her knowledge of our actual earth,Its hopes and fears, concerns and sympathies,Must be too far, too mediate, too unreal.The real exists for us outside, not her:How should it, with that life in these four walls,That father and that mother, first to lastNo father and no mother—friends, a heap,Lovers, no lack—a husband in due time,And every one of them alike a lie!Things painted by a Rubens out of naughtInto what kindness, friendship, love should be;All better, all more grandiose than the life,Only no life; mere cloth and surface-paint,You feel, while you admire. How should she feel?Yet now that she has stood thus fifty yearsThe sole spectator in that gallery,You think to bring this warm real struggling loveIn to her of a sudden, and supposeShe 'll keep her state untroubled? Here 's the truth—She 'll apprehend truth's value at a glance,Prefer it to the pictured loyalty?You only have to say, "So men are made,For this they act; the thing has many names,But this the right one: and now, Queen, be just!"Your life slips back; you lose her at the word:You do not even for amends gain me.He will not understand! oh, Norbert, Norbert,Do you not understand?

Con.Yes, just. You love a rose: no harm in that:

But was it for the rose's sake or mine

You put it in your bosom? mine, you said—

Then, mine you still must say or else be false.

You told the Queen you served her for herself;

If so, to serve her was to serve yourself,

She thinks, for all your unbelieving face!

I know her. In the hall, six steps from us,

One sees the twenty pictures: there 's a life

Better than life, and yet no life at all.

Conceive her born in such a magic dome,

Pictures all round her! why, she sees the world,

Can recognize its given things and facts,

The fight of giants or the feast of gods,

Sages in senate, beauties at the bath,

Chases and battles, the whole earth's display,

Landscape and sea-piece, down to flowers and fruit—

And who shall question that she knows them all,

In better semblance than the things outside?

Yet bring into the silent gallery

Some live thing to contrast in breath and blood,

Some lion, with the painted lion there—

You think she 'll understand composedly?

—Say, "that 's his fellow in the hunting-piece

Yonder, I 've turned to praise a hundred times?"

Not so. Her knowledge of our actual earth,

Its hopes and fears, concerns and sympathies,

Must be too far, too mediate, too unreal.

The real exists for us outside, not her:

How should it, with that life in these four walls,

That father and that mother, first to last

No father and no mother—friends, a heap,

Lovers, no lack—a husband in due time,

And every one of them alike a lie!

Things painted by a Rubens out of naught

Into what kindness, friendship, love should be;

All better, all more grandiose than the life,

Only no life; mere cloth and surface-paint,

You feel, while you admire. How should she feel?

Yet now that she has stood thus fifty years

The sole spectator in that gallery,

You think to bring this warm real struggling love

In to her of a sudden, and suppose

She 'll keep her state untroubled? Here 's the truth—

She 'll apprehend truth's value at a glance,

Prefer it to the pictured loyalty?

You only have to say, "So men are made,

For this they act; the thing has many names,

But this the right one: and now, Queen, be just!"

Your life slips back; you lose her at the word:

You do not even for amends gain me.

He will not understand! oh, Norbert, Norbert,

Do you not understand?

Nor.The Queen 's the Queen,I am myself—no picture, but aliveIn every nerve and every muscle, hereAt the palace-window o'er the people's street,As she in the gallery where the pictures glow:The good of life is precious to us both.She cannot love; what do I want with rule?When first I saw your face a year agoI knew my life's good, my soul heard one voice—"The woman yonder, there 's no use of lifeBut just to obtain her! heap earth's woes in oneAnd bear them—make a pile of all earth's joysAnd spurn them, as they help or help not this;Only, obtain her!" How was it to be?I found you were the cousin of the Queen;I must then serve the Queen to get to you.No other way. Suppose there had been one,And I, by saying prayers to some white starWith promise of my body and my soul,Might gain you,—should I pray the star or no?Instead, there was the Queen to serve! I served,Helped, did what other servants failed to do.Neither she sought nor I declared my end.Her good is hers, my recompense be mine,—I therefore name you as that recompense.She dreamed that such a thing could never be?Let her wake now. She thinks there was more causeIn love of power, high fame, pure loyalty?Perhaps she fancies men wear out their livesChasing such shades. Then, I 've a fancy too;I worked because I want you with my soul:I therefore ask your hand. Let it be now!

Nor.The Queen 's the Queen,

I am myself—no picture, but alive

In every nerve and every muscle, here

At the palace-window o'er the people's street,

As she in the gallery where the pictures glow:

The good of life is precious to us both.

She cannot love; what do I want with rule?

When first I saw your face a year ago

I knew my life's good, my soul heard one voice—

"The woman yonder, there 's no use of life

But just to obtain her! heap earth's woes in one

And bear them—make a pile of all earth's joys

And spurn them, as they help or help not this;

Only, obtain her!" How was it to be?

I found you were the cousin of the Queen;

I must then serve the Queen to get to you.

No other way. Suppose there had been one,

And I, by saying prayers to some white star

With promise of my body and my soul,

Might gain you,—should I pray the star or no?

Instead, there was the Queen to serve! I served,

Helped, did what other servants failed to do.

Neither she sought nor I declared my end.

Her good is hers, my recompense be mine,—

I therefore name you as that recompense.

She dreamed that such a thing could never be?

Let her wake now. She thinks there was more cause

In love of power, high fame, pure loyalty?

Perhaps she fancies men wear out their lives

Chasing such shades. Then, I 've a fancy too;

I worked because I want you with my soul:

I therefore ask your hand. Let it be now!

Con.Had I not loved you from the very first,Were I not yours, could we not steal out thusSo wickedly, so wildly, and so well,You might become impatient. What 's conceivedOf us without here, by the folk within?Where are you now? immersed in cares of state—Where am I now? intent on festal robes—We two, embracing under death's spread hand!What was this thought for, what that scruple of yoursWhich broke the council up?—to bring aboutOne minute's meeting in the corridor!And then the sudden sleights, strange secrecies,Complots inscrutable, deep telegraphs,Long-planned chance-meetings, hazards of a look,"Does she know? does she not know? saved or lost?"A year of this compression's ecstasyAll goes for nothing! you would give this upFor the old way, the open way, the world's,His way who beats, and his who sells his wife!What tempts you?—their notorious happinessMakes you ashamed of ours? The best you 'll gainWill be—the Queen grants all that you require,Concedes the cousin, rids herself of youAnd me at once, and gives us ample leaveTo live like our five hundred happy friends.The world will show us with officious handOur chamber-entry, and stand sentinelWhere we so oft have stolen across its traps!Get the world's warrant, ring the falcons' feet,And make it duty to be bold and swift,Which long ago was nature. Have it so!We never hawked by rights till flung from fist?Oh, the man's thought! no woman's such a fool.

Con.Had I not loved you from the very first,

Were I not yours, could we not steal out thus

So wickedly, so wildly, and so well,

You might become impatient. What 's conceived

Of us without here, by the folk within?

Where are you now? immersed in cares of state—

Where am I now? intent on festal robes—

We two, embracing under death's spread hand!

What was this thought for, what that scruple of yours

Which broke the council up?—to bring about

One minute's meeting in the corridor!

And then the sudden sleights, strange secrecies,

Complots inscrutable, deep telegraphs,

Long-planned chance-meetings, hazards of a look,

"Does she know? does she not know? saved or lost?"

A year of this compression's ecstasy

All goes for nothing! you would give this up

For the old way, the open way, the world's,

His way who beats, and his who sells his wife!

What tempts you?—their notorious happiness

Makes you ashamed of ours? The best you 'll gain

Will be—the Queen grants all that you require,

Concedes the cousin, rids herself of you

And me at once, and gives us ample leave

To live like our five hundred happy friends.

The world will show us with officious hand

Our chamber-entry, and stand sentinel

Where we so oft have stolen across its traps!

Get the world's warrant, ring the falcons' feet,

And make it duty to be bold and swift,

Which long ago was nature. Have it so!

We never hawked by rights till flung from fist?

Oh, the man's thought! no woman's such a fool.

Nor.Yes, the man's thought and my thought, which is more—One made to love you, let the world take note!Have I done worthy work? be love's the praise,Though hampered by restrictions, barred againstBy set forms, blinded by forced secrecies!Set free my love, and see what love can doShown in my life—what work will spring from that!The world is used to have its business doneOn other grounds, find great effects producedFor power's sake, fame's sake, motives in men's mouth.So, good: but let my low ground shame their high!Truth is the strong thing. Let man's life be true!And love's the truth of mine. Time prove the rest!I choose to wear you stamped all over me,Your name upon my forehead and my breast,You, from the sword's blade to the ribbon's edge,That men may see, all over, you in me—That pale loves may die out of their pretenceIn face of mine, shames thrown on love fall off.Permit this, Constance! Love has been so longSubdued in me, eating me through and through,That now 't is all of me and must have way.Think of my work, that chaos of intrigues,Those hopes and fears, surprises and delays,That long endeavor, earnest, patient, slow,Trembling at last to its assured result:Then think of this revulsion! I resumeLife after death, (it is no less than life,After such long unlovely laboring days,)And liberate to beauty life's great needO' the beautiful, which, while it prompted work,Suppressed itself erewhile. This eve's the time,This eve intense with yon first trembling starWe seem to pant and reach; scarce aught betweenThe earth that rises and the heaven that bends;All nature self-abandoned, every treeFlung as it will, pursuing its own thoughtsAnd fixed so, every flower and every weed,No pride, no shame, no victory, no defeat;All under God, each measured by itself.These statues round us stand abrupt, distinct,The strong in strength, the weak in weakness fixed,The Muse forever wedded to her lyre,Nymph to her fawn, and Silence to her rose:See God's approval on his universe!Let us do so—aspire to live as theseIn harmony with truth, ourselves being true!Take the first way, and let the second come!My first is to possess myself of you;The music sets the march-step—forward, then!And there 's the Queen, I go to claim you of,The world to witness, wonder and applaud.Our flower of life breaks open. No delay!

Nor.Yes, the man's thought and my thought, which is more—

One made to love you, let the world take note!

Have I done worthy work? be love's the praise,

Though hampered by restrictions, barred against

By set forms, blinded by forced secrecies!

Set free my love, and see what love can do

Shown in my life—what work will spring from that!

The world is used to have its business done

On other grounds, find great effects produced

For power's sake, fame's sake, motives in men's mouth.

So, good: but let my low ground shame their high!

Truth is the strong thing. Let man's life be true!

And love's the truth of mine. Time prove the rest!

I choose to wear you stamped all over me,

Your name upon my forehead and my breast,

You, from the sword's blade to the ribbon's edge,

That men may see, all over, you in me—

That pale loves may die out of their pretence

In face of mine, shames thrown on love fall off.

Permit this, Constance! Love has been so long

Subdued in me, eating me through and through,

That now 't is all of me and must have way.

Think of my work, that chaos of intrigues,

Those hopes and fears, surprises and delays,

That long endeavor, earnest, patient, slow,

Trembling at last to its assured result:

Then think of this revulsion! I resume

Life after death, (it is no less than life,

After such long unlovely laboring days,)

And liberate to beauty life's great need

O' the beautiful, which, while it prompted work,

Suppressed itself erewhile. This eve's the time,

This eve intense with yon first trembling star

We seem to pant and reach; scarce aught between

The earth that rises and the heaven that bends;

All nature self-abandoned, every tree

Flung as it will, pursuing its own thoughts

And fixed so, every flower and every weed,

No pride, no shame, no victory, no defeat;

All under God, each measured by itself.

These statues round us stand abrupt, distinct,

The strong in strength, the weak in weakness fixed,

The Muse forever wedded to her lyre,

Nymph to her fawn, and Silence to her rose:

See God's approval on his universe!

Let us do so—aspire to live as these

In harmony with truth, ourselves being true!

Take the first way, and let the second come!

My first is to possess myself of you;

The music sets the march-step—forward, then!

And there 's the Queen, I go to claim you of,

The world to witness, wonder and applaud.

Our flower of life breaks open. No delay!

Con.And so shall we be ruined, both of us.Norbert, I know her to the skin and bone:You do not know her, were not born to it,To feel what she can see or cannot see.Love, she is generous,—ay, despite your smile,Generous as you are: for, in that thin framePain-twisted, punctured through and through with cares,There lived a lavish soul until it starved,Debarred of healthy food. Look to the soul—Pity that, stoop to that, ere you begin(The true man's—way) on justice and your rights,Exactions and acquittance of the past!Begin so—see what justice she will deal!We women hate a debt as men a gift.Suppose her some poor keeper of a schoolWhose business is to sit through summer monthsAnd dole out children leave to go and play,Herself superior to such lightness—sheIn the arm-chair's state and pædagogic pomp—To the life, the laughter, sun and youth outside:We wonder such a face looks black on us?I do not bid you wake her tenderness,(That were vain truly—none is left to wake,)But, let her think her justice is engagedTo take the shape of tenderness, and markIf she 'll not coldly pay its warmest debt!Does she love me, I ask you? not a whit:Yet, thinking that her justice was engagedTo help a kinswoman, she took me up—Did more on that bare ground than other lovesWould do on greater argument. For me,I have no equivalent of such cold kindTo pay her with, but love alone to giveIf I give anything. I give her love:I feel I ought to help her, and I will.So, for her sake, as yours, I tell you twiceThat women hate a debt as men a gift.If I were you, I could obtain this grace—Could lay the whole I did to love's account,Nor yet be very false as courtiers go—Declaring my success was recompense;It would be so, in fact: what were it else?And then, once loose her generosity,—Oh, how I see it! then, were I but youTo turn it, let it seem to move itself,And make it offer what I really take,Accepting just, in the poor cousin's hand,Her value as the next thing to the Queen's—Since none love Queens directly, none dare that,And a thing's shadow or a name's mere echoSuffices those who miss the name and thing!You pick up just a ribbon she has worn,To keep in proof how near her breath you came.Say, I 'm so near I seem a piece of her—Ask for me that way—(oh, you understand,)You 'd find the same gift yielded with a grace,Which, if you make the least show to extort ...—You 'll see! and when you have ruined both of us,Dissertate on the Queen's ingratitude!

Con.And so shall we be ruined, both of us.

Norbert, I know her to the skin and bone:

You do not know her, were not born to it,

To feel what she can see or cannot see.

Love, she is generous,—ay, despite your smile,

Generous as you are: for, in that thin frame

Pain-twisted, punctured through and through with cares,

There lived a lavish soul until it starved,

Debarred of healthy food. Look to the soul—

Pity that, stoop to that, ere you begin

(The true man's—way) on justice and your rights,

Exactions and acquittance of the past!

Begin so—see what justice she will deal!

We women hate a debt as men a gift.

Suppose her some poor keeper of a school

Whose business is to sit through summer months

And dole out children leave to go and play,

Herself superior to such lightness—she

In the arm-chair's state and pædagogic pomp—

To the life, the laughter, sun and youth outside:

We wonder such a face looks black on us?

I do not bid you wake her tenderness,

(That were vain truly—none is left to wake,)

But, let her think her justice is engaged

To take the shape of tenderness, and mark

If she 'll not coldly pay its warmest debt!

Does she love me, I ask you? not a whit:

Yet, thinking that her justice was engaged

To help a kinswoman, she took me up—

Did more on that bare ground than other loves

Would do on greater argument. For me,

I have no equivalent of such cold kind

To pay her with, but love alone to give

If I give anything. I give her love:

I feel I ought to help her, and I will.

So, for her sake, as yours, I tell you twice

That women hate a debt as men a gift.

If I were you, I could obtain this grace—

Could lay the whole I did to love's account,

Nor yet be very false as courtiers go—

Declaring my success was recompense;

It would be so, in fact: what were it else?

And then, once loose her generosity,—

Oh, how I see it! then, were I but you

To turn it, let it seem to move itself,

And make it offer what I really take,

Accepting just, in the poor cousin's hand,

Her value as the next thing to the Queen's—

Since none love Queens directly, none dare that,

And a thing's shadow or a name's mere echo

Suffices those who miss the name and thing!

You pick up just a ribbon she has worn,

To keep in proof how near her breath you came.

Say, I 'm so near I seem a piece of her—

Ask for me that way—(oh, you understand,)

You 'd find the same gift yielded with a grace,

Which, if you make the least show to extort ...

—You 'll see! and when you have ruined both of us,

Dissertate on the Queen's ingratitude!

Nor.Then, if I turn it that way, you consent?'T is not my way; I have more hope in truth:Still, if you won't have truth—why, this indeed,Were scarcely false, as I 'd express the sense.Will you remain here?

Nor.Then, if I turn it that way, you consent?

'T is not my way; I have more hope in truth:

Still, if you won't have truth—why, this indeed,

Were scarcely false, as I 'd express the sense.

Will you remain here?

Con.O best heart of mine,How I have loved you! then, you take my way?Are mine as you have been her minister,Work out my thought, give it effect for me,Paint plain my poor conceit and make it serve?I owe that withered woman everything—Life, fortune, you, remember! Take my part—Help me to pay her! Stand upon your rights?You, with my rose, my hands, my heart on you?Your rights are mine—you have no rights but mine.

Con.O best heart of mine,

How I have loved you! then, you take my way?

Are mine as you have been her minister,

Work out my thought, give it effect for me,

Paint plain my poor conceit and make it serve?

I owe that withered woman everything—

Life, fortune, you, remember! Take my part—

Help me to pay her! Stand upon your rights?

You, with my rose, my hands, my heart on you?

Your rights are mine—you have no rights but mine.

Nor.Remain here. How you know me!

Con.Ah, but still—

[He breaks from her; she remains. Dance-music from within.

(Enter theQueen.)

Queen.Constance? She is here as he said. Speak quick!Is it so? Is it true or false? One word!

Queen.Constance? She is here as he said. Speak quick!

Is it so? Is it true or false? One word!

Con.True.

Queen.Mercifullest Mother, thanks to thee!

Con.Madam?

Queen.I love you, Constance, from my soul.Now say once more, with any words you will,'T is true, all true, as true as that I speak.

Queen.I love you, Constance, from my soul.

Now say once more, with any words you will,

'T is true, all true, as true as that I speak.

Con.Why should you doubt it?

Queen.Ah, why doubt? why doubt?Dear, make me see it! Do you see it so?None see themselves; another sees them best.You say "why doubt it?"—you see him and me.It is because the Mother has such graceThat if we had but faith—wherein we fail—Whate'er we yearn for would be granted us;Yet still we let our whims prescribe despair,Our fancies thwart and cramp our will and power,And while accepting life, abjure its use.Constance, I had abjured the hope of loveAnd being loved, as truly as yon palmThe hope of seeing Egypt from that plot.

Queen.Ah, why doubt? why doubt?

Dear, make me see it! Do you see it so?

None see themselves; another sees them best.

You say "why doubt it?"—you see him and me.

It is because the Mother has such grace

That if we had but faith—wherein we fail—

Whate'er we yearn for would be granted us;

Yet still we let our whims prescribe despair,

Our fancies thwart and cramp our will and power,

And while accepting life, abjure its use.

Constance, I had abjured the hope of love

And being loved, as truly as yon palm

The hope of seeing Egypt from that plot.

Con.Heaven!

Queen.But it was so, Constance, it was so!Men say—or do men say it? fancies say—"Stop here, your life is set, you are grown old.Too late—no love for you, too late for love—Leave love to girls. Be queen: let Constance love!"One takes the hint—half meets it like a child,Ashamed at any feelings that oppose."Oh love, true, never think of love again!I am a queen: I rule, not love, forsooth."So it goes on; so a face grows like this,Hair like this hair, poor arms as lean as these,Till,—nay, it does not end so, I thank God!

Queen.But it was so, Constance, it was so!

Men say—or do men say it? fancies say—

"Stop here, your life is set, you are grown old.

Too late—no love for you, too late for love—

Leave love to girls. Be queen: let Constance love!"

One takes the hint—half meets it like a child,

Ashamed at any feelings that oppose.

"Oh love, true, never think of love again!

I am a queen: I rule, not love, forsooth."

So it goes on; so a face grows like this,

Hair like this hair, poor arms as lean as these,

Till,—nay, it does not end so, I thank God!

Con.I cannot understand—

Queen.The happier you!Constance, I know not how it is with men:For women (I am a woman now like you)There is no good of life but love—but love!What else looks good, is some shade flung from love;Love gilds it, gives it worth. Be warned by me,Never you cheat yourself one instant! Love,Give love, ask only love, and leave the rest!O Constance, how I love you!

Queen.The happier you!

Constance, I know not how it is with men:

For women (I am a woman now like you)

There is no good of life but love—but love!

What else looks good, is some shade flung from love;

Love gilds it, gives it worth. Be warned by me,

Never you cheat yourself one instant! Love,

Give love, ask only love, and leave the rest!

O Constance, how I love you!

Con.I love you.

Queen.I do believe that all is come through you.I took you to my heart to keep it warmWhen the last chance of love seemed dead in me;I thought your fresh youth warmed my withered heart.Oh, I am very old now, am I not?Not so! it is true and it shall be true!

Queen.I do believe that all is come through you.

I took you to my heart to keep it warm

When the last chance of love seemed dead in me;

I thought your fresh youth warmed my withered heart.

Oh, I am very old now, am I not?

Not so! it is true and it shall be true!

Con.Tell it me: let me judge if true or false.

Queen.Ah, but I fear you! you will look at meAnd say, "she 's old, she 's grown unlovely quiteWho ne'er was beauteous: men want beauty still."Well, so I feared—the curse! so I felt sure!

Queen.Ah, but I fear you! you will look at me

And say, "she 's old, she 's grown unlovely quite

Who ne'er was beauteous: men want beauty still."

Well, so I feared—the curse! so I felt sure!

Con.Be calm. And now you feel not sure, you say?

Queen.Constance, he came,—the coming was not strange—Do not I stand and see men come and go?I turned a half-look from my pedestalWhere I grow marble—"one young man the more!He will love some one; that is naught to me:What would he with my marble stateliness?"Yet this seemed somewhat worse than heretofore;The man more gracious, youthful, like a god,And I still older, with less flesh to change—We two those dear extremes that long to touch.It seemed still harder when he first beganTo labor at those state-affairs, absorbedThe old way for the old end—interest.Oh, to live with a thousand beating heartsAround you, swift eyes, serviceable hands,Professing they 've no care but for your cause,Thought but to help you, love but for yourself,—And you the marble statue all the timeThey praise and point at as preferred to life,Yet leave for the first breathing woman's smile,First dancer's, gypsy's, or street baladine's!Why, how I have ground my teeth to hear men's speechStifled for fear it should alarm my ear,Their gait subdued lest step should startle me,Their eyes declined, such queendom to respect,Their hands alert, such treasure to preserve,While not a man of them broke rank and spoke,Wrote me a vulgar letter all of love.Or caught my hand and pressed it like a hand!There have been moments, if the sentinelLowering his halbert to salute the queen,Had flung it brutally and clasped my knees,I would have stooped and kissed him with my soul.

Queen.Constance, he came,—the coming was not strange—

Do not I stand and see men come and go?

I turned a half-look from my pedestal

Where I grow marble—"one young man the more!

He will love some one; that is naught to me:

What would he with my marble stateliness?"

Yet this seemed somewhat worse than heretofore;

The man more gracious, youthful, like a god,

And I still older, with less flesh to change—

We two those dear extremes that long to touch.

It seemed still harder when he first began

To labor at those state-affairs, absorbed

The old way for the old end—interest.

Oh, to live with a thousand beating hearts

Around you, swift eyes, serviceable hands,

Professing they 've no care but for your cause,

Thought but to help you, love but for yourself,—

And you the marble statue all the time

They praise and point at as preferred to life,

Yet leave for the first breathing woman's smile,

First dancer's, gypsy's, or street baladine's!

Why, how I have ground my teeth to hear men's speech

Stifled for fear it should alarm my ear,

Their gait subdued lest step should startle me,

Their eyes declined, such queendom to respect,

Their hands alert, such treasure to preserve,

While not a man of them broke rank and spoke,

Wrote me a vulgar letter all of love.

Or caught my hand and pressed it like a hand!

There have been moments, if the sentinel

Lowering his halbert to salute the queen,

Had flung it brutally and clasped my knees,

I would have stooped and kissed him with my soul.

Con.Who could have comprehended?

Queen.Ay, who—who?Why, no one, Constance, but this one who did.Not they, not you, not I. Even now perhapsIt comes too late—would you but tell the truth.

Queen.Ay, who—who?

Why, no one, Constance, but this one who did.

Not they, not you, not I. Even now perhaps

It comes too late—would you but tell the truth.

Con.I wait to tell it.

Queen.Well, you see, he came,Outfaced the others, did a work this yearExceeds in value all was ever done,You know—it is not I who say it—allSay it. And so (a second pang and worse)I grew aware not only of what he did,But why so wondrously. Oh, never workLike his was done for work's ignoble sake—Souls need a finer aim to light and lure!I felt, I saw, he loved—loved somebody.And Constance, my dear Constance, do you know,I did believe this while 't was you he loved.

Queen.Well, you see, he came,

Outfaced the others, did a work this year

Exceeds in value all was ever done,

You know—it is not I who say it—all

Say it. And so (a second pang and worse)

I grew aware not only of what he did,

But why so wondrously. Oh, never work

Like his was done for work's ignoble sake—

Souls need a finer aim to light and lure!

I felt, I saw, he loved—loved somebody.

And Constance, my dear Constance, do you know,

I did believe this while 't was you he loved.

Con.Me, madam?

Queen.It did seem to me, your faceMet him where'er he looked: and whom but youWas such a man to love? It seemed to me,You saw he loved you, and approved his love,And both of you were in intelligence.You could not loiter in that garden, stepInto this balcony, but I straight was stungAnd forced to understand. It seemed so true,So right, so beautiful, so like you both,That all this work should have been done by himNot for the vulgar hope of recompense,But that at last—suppose, some night like this—Borne on to claim his due reward of me,He might say, "Give her hand and pay me so."And I (O Constance, you shall love me now!)I thought, surmounting all the bitterness,—"And he shall have it. I will make her blest,My flower of youth, my woman's self that was,My happiest woman's self that might have been!These two shall have their joy and leave me here."Yes—yes!

Queen.It did seem to me, your face

Met him where'er he looked: and whom but you

Was such a man to love? It seemed to me,

You saw he loved you, and approved his love,

And both of you were in intelligence.

You could not loiter in that garden, step

Into this balcony, but I straight was stung

And forced to understand. It seemed so true,

So right, so beautiful, so like you both,

That all this work should have been done by him

Not for the vulgar hope of recompense,

But that at last—suppose, some night like this—

Borne on to claim his due reward of me,

He might say, "Give her hand and pay me so."

And I (O Constance, you shall love me now!)

I thought, surmounting all the bitterness,

—"And he shall have it. I will make her blest,

My flower of youth, my woman's self that was,

My happiest woman's self that might have been!

These two shall have their joy and leave me here."

Yes—yes!

Con.Thanks!

Queen.And the word was on my lipsWhen he burst in upon me. I looked to hearA mere calm statement of his just desireFor payment of his labor. When—O heaven,How can I tell you? lightning on my eyesAnd thunder in my ears proved that first wordWhich told 't was love of me, of me, did all—He loved me—from the first step to the last,Loved me!

Queen.And the word was on my lips

When he burst in upon me. I looked to hear

A mere calm statement of his just desire

For payment of his labor. When—O heaven,

How can I tell you? lightning on my eyes

And thunder in my ears proved that first word

Which told 't was love of me, of me, did all—

He loved me—from the first step to the last,

Loved me!

Con.You hardly saw, scarce heard him speak

Of love: what if you should mistake?

Queen.No, no—No mistake! Ha, there shall be no mistake!He had not dared to hint the love he felt—You were my reflex—(how I understood!)He said you were the ribbon I had worn,He kissed my hand, he looked into my eyes,And love, love came at end of every phrase.Love is begun; this much is come to pass:The rest is easy. Constance, I am yours!I will learn, I will place my life on you,Teach me but how to keep what I have won!Am I so old? This hair was early gray;But joy ere now has brought hair brown again,And joy will bring the cheek's red back, I feel.I could sing once too; that was in my youth.Still, when men paint me, they declare me ... yes,Beautiful—for the last French painter did!I know they flatter somewhat; you are frank—I trust you. How I loved you from the first!Some queens would hardly seek a cousin outAnd set her by their side to take the eye:I must have felt that good would come from you.I am not generous—like him—like you!But he is not your lover after all:It was not you he looked at. Saw you him?You have not been mistaking words or looks?He said you were the reflex of myself.And yet he is not such a paragonTo you, to younger women who may chooseAmong a thousand Norberts. Speak the truth!You know you never named his name to me:You know, I cannot give him up—ah God,Not up now, even to you!

Queen.No, no—

No mistake! Ha, there shall be no mistake!

He had not dared to hint the love he felt—

You were my reflex—(how I understood!)

He said you were the ribbon I had worn,

He kissed my hand, he looked into my eyes,

And love, love came at end of every phrase.

Love is begun; this much is come to pass:

The rest is easy. Constance, I am yours!

I will learn, I will place my life on you,

Teach me but how to keep what I have won!

Am I so old? This hair was early gray;

But joy ere now has brought hair brown again,

And joy will bring the cheek's red back, I feel.

I could sing once too; that was in my youth.

Still, when men paint me, they declare me ... yes,

Beautiful—for the last French painter did!

I know they flatter somewhat; you are frank—

I trust you. How I loved you from the first!

Some queens would hardly seek a cousin out

And set her by their side to take the eye:

I must have felt that good would come from you.

I am not generous—like him—like you!

But he is not your lover after all:

It was not you he looked at. Saw you him?

You have not been mistaking words or looks?

He said you were the reflex of myself.

And yet he is not such a paragon

To you, to younger women who may choose

Among a thousand Norberts. Speak the truth!

You know you never named his name to me:

You know, I cannot give him up—ah God,

Not up now, even to you!

Con.Then calm yourself.

Queen.See, I am old—look here, you happy girl!I will not play the fool, deceive—ah, whom?'T is all gone: put your cheek beside my cheekAnd what a contrast does the moon behold!But then I set my life upon one chance,The last chance and the best—am I not left,My soul, myself? All women love great menIf young or old; it is in all the tales:Young beauties love old poets who can love—Why should not he, the poems in my soul,The passionate faith, the pride of sacrifice,Life-long, death-long? I throw them at his feet.Who cares to see the fountain's very shape,Whether it be a Triton's or a Nymph'sThat pours the foam, makes rainbows all around?You could not praise indeed the empty conch;But I 'll pour floods of love and hide myself.How I will love him! Cannot men love love?Who was a queen and loved a poet onceHumpbacked, a dwarf? ah, women can do that!Well, but men too; at least, they tell you so.They love so many women in their youth,And even in age they all love whom they please;And yet the best of them confide to friendsThat 't is not beauty makes the lasting love—They spend a day with such and tire the next:They like soul,—well then, they like phantasy,Novelty even. Let us confess the truth,Horrible though it be, that prejudice,Prescription ... curses! they will love a queen.They will, they do: and will not, does not—he?

Queen.See, I am old—look here, you happy girl!

I will not play the fool, deceive—ah, whom?

'T is all gone: put your cheek beside my cheek

And what a contrast does the moon behold!

But then I set my life upon one chance,

The last chance and the best—am I not left,

My soul, myself? All women love great men

If young or old; it is in all the tales:

Young beauties love old poets who can love—

Why should not he, the poems in my soul,

The passionate faith, the pride of sacrifice,

Life-long, death-long? I throw them at his feet.

Who cares to see the fountain's very shape,

Whether it be a Triton's or a Nymph's

That pours the foam, makes rainbows all around?

You could not praise indeed the empty conch;

But I 'll pour floods of love and hide myself.

How I will love him! Cannot men love love?

Who was a queen and loved a poet once

Humpbacked, a dwarf? ah, women can do that!

Well, but men too; at least, they tell you so.

They love so many women in their youth,

And even in age they all love whom they please;

And yet the best of them confide to friends

That 't is not beauty makes the lasting love—

They spend a day with such and tire the next:

They like soul,—well then, they like phantasy,

Novelty even. Let us confess the truth,

Horrible though it be, that prejudice,

Prescription ... curses! they will love a queen.

They will, they do: and will not, does not—he?

Con.How can he? You are wedded: 't is a nameWe know, but still a bond. Your rank remains,His rank remains. How can he, nobly souledAs you believe and I incline to think,Aspire to be your favorite, shame and all?

Con.How can he? You are wedded: 't is a name

We know, but still a bond. Your rank remains,

His rank remains. How can he, nobly souled

As you believe and I incline to think,

Aspire to be your favorite, shame and all?

Queen.Hear her! There, there now—could she love like me?What did I say of smooth-cheeked youth and grace?See all it does or could do! so youth loves!Oh, tell him, Constance, you could never doWhat I will—you, it was not born in! IWill drive these difficulties far and fastAs yonder mists curdling before the moon.I 'll use my light too, gloriously retrieveMy youth from its enforced calamity,Dissolve that hateful marriage, and be his,His own in the eyes alike of God and man.

Queen.Hear her! There, there now—could she love like me?

What did I say of smooth-cheeked youth and grace?

See all it does or could do! so youth loves!

Oh, tell him, Constance, you could never do

What I will—you, it was not born in! I

Will drive these difficulties far and fast

As yonder mists curdling before the moon.

I 'll use my light too, gloriously retrieve

My youth from its enforced calamity,

Dissolve that hateful marriage, and be his,

His own in the eyes alike of God and man.

Con.You will do—dare do ... pause on what you say!

Queen.Hear her! I thank you, sweet, for that surprise.You have the fair face: for the soul, see mine!I have the strong soul: let me teach you, here.I think I have borne enough and long enough,And patiently enough, the world remarks,To have my own way now, unblamed by all.It does so happen (I rejoice for it)This most unhoped-for issue cuts the knot.There 's not a better way of settling claimsThan this; God sends the accident express:And were it for my subjects' good, no more,'T were best thus ordered. I am thankful now,Mute, passive, acquiescent. I receive,And bless God simply, or should almost fearTo walk so smoothly to my ends at last.Why, how I baffle obstacles, spurn fate!How strong I am! Could Norbert see me now!

Queen.Hear her! I thank you, sweet, for that surprise.

You have the fair face: for the soul, see mine!

I have the strong soul: let me teach you, here.

I think I have borne enough and long enough,

And patiently enough, the world remarks,

To have my own way now, unblamed by all.

It does so happen (I rejoice for it)

This most unhoped-for issue cuts the knot.

There 's not a better way of settling claims

Than this; God sends the accident express:

And were it for my subjects' good, no more,

'T were best thus ordered. I am thankful now,

Mute, passive, acquiescent. I receive,

And bless God simply, or should almost fear

To walk so smoothly to my ends at last.

Why, how I baffle obstacles, spurn fate!

How strong I am! Could Norbert see me now!

Con.Let me consider. It is all too strange.

Queen.You, Constance, learn of me; do you, like me!You are young, beautiful: my own, best girl,You will have many lovers, and love one—Light hair, not hair like Norbert's, to suit yours,Taller than he is, since yourself are tall.Love him, like me! Give all away to him;Think never of yourself; throw by your pride,Hope, fear,—your own good as you saw it once,And love him simply for his very self.Remember, I (and what am I to you?)Would give up all for one, leave throne, lose life.Do all but just unlove him! He loves me.

Queen.You, Constance, learn of me; do you, like me!

You are young, beautiful: my own, best girl,

You will have many lovers, and love one—

Light hair, not hair like Norbert's, to suit yours,

Taller than he is, since yourself are tall.

Love him, like me! Give all away to him;

Think never of yourself; throw by your pride,

Hope, fear,—your own good as you saw it once,

And love him simply for his very self.

Remember, I (and what am I to you?)

Would give up all for one, leave throne, lose life.

Do all but just unlove him! He loves me.

Con.He shall.

Queen.You, step inside my inmost heart!Give me your own heart: let us have one heart!I 'll come to you for counsel; "this he says,This he does; what should this amount to, pray?Beseech you, change it into current coin!Is that worth kisses? Shall I please him there?"And then we 'll speak in turn of you—what else?Your love, according to your beauty's worth,For you shall have some noble love, all gold:Whom choose you? we will get him at your choice.—Constance, I leave you. Just a minute since,I felt as I must die or be aloneBreathing my soul into an ear like yours:Now, I would face the world with my new life,Wear my new crown. I 'll walk around the rooms,And then come back and tell you how it feels.How soon a smile of God can change the world!How we are made for happiness—how workGrows play, adversity a winning fight!True, I have lost so many years: what then?Many remain: God has been very good.You, stay here! 'T is as different from dreams,From the mind's cold calm estimate of bliss,As these stone statues from the flesh and blood.The comfort thou hast caused mankind, God's moon!

Queen.You, step inside my inmost heart!

Give me your own heart: let us have one heart!

I 'll come to you for counsel; "this he says,

This he does; what should this amount to, pray?

Beseech you, change it into current coin!

Is that worth kisses? Shall I please him there?"

And then we 'll speak in turn of you—what else?

Your love, according to your beauty's worth,

For you shall have some noble love, all gold:

Whom choose you? we will get him at your choice.

—Constance, I leave you. Just a minute since,

I felt as I must die or be alone

Breathing my soul into an ear like yours:

Now, I would face the world with my new life,

Wear my new crown. I 'll walk around the rooms,

And then come back and tell you how it feels.

How soon a smile of God can change the world!

How we are made for happiness—how work

Grows play, adversity a winning fight!

True, I have lost so many years: what then?

Many remain: God has been very good.

You, stay here! 'T is as different from dreams,

From the mind's cold calm estimate of bliss,

As these stone statues from the flesh and blood.

The comfort thou hast caused mankind, God's moon!

[She goes out,leavingConstance.Dance-music from within.

(Norbertenters.)

Nor.Well? we have but one minute and one word!

Con.I am yours, Norbert!

Nor.Yes, mine.

Con.Not till now!You were mine. Now I give myself to you.

Con.Not till now!

You were mine. Now I give myself to you.

Nor.Constance?

Con.Your own! I know the thriftier wayOf giving—haply, 't is the wiser way.Meaning to give a treasure, I might doleCoin after coin out (each, as that were all,With a new largess still at each despair)And force you keep in sight the deed, preserveExhaustless till the end my part and yours,My giving and your taking; both our joysDying together. Is it the wiser way?I choose the simpler; I give all at once.Know what you have to trust to, trade upon!Use it, abuse it,—anything but thinkHereafter, "Had I known she loved me so,And what my means, I might have thriven with it."This is your means. I give you all myself.

Con.Your own! I know the thriftier way

Of giving—haply, 't is the wiser way.

Meaning to give a treasure, I might dole

Coin after coin out (each, as that were all,

With a new largess still at each despair)

And force you keep in sight the deed, preserve

Exhaustless till the end my part and yours,

My giving and your taking; both our joys

Dying together. Is it the wiser way?

I choose the simpler; I give all at once.

Know what you have to trust to, trade upon!

Use it, abuse it,—anything but think

Hereafter, "Had I known she loved me so,

And what my means, I might have thriven with it."

This is your means. I give you all myself.

Nor.I take you and thank God.

Con.Look on through years!We cannot kiss, a second day like this;Else were this earth no earth.

Con.Look on through years!

We cannot kiss, a second day like this;

Else were this earth no earth.

Nor.With this day's heatWe shall go on through years of cold.

Nor.With this day's heat

We shall go on through years of cold.

Con.So, best!—I try to see those years—I think I see.You walk quick and new warmth comes; you look backAnd lay all to the first glow—not sit downForever brooding on a day like thisWhile seeing embers whiten and love die.Yes, love lives best in its effect; and mine,Full in its own life, yearns to live in yours.

Con.So, best!

—I try to see those years—I think I see.

You walk quick and new warmth comes; you look back

And lay all to the first glow—not sit down

Forever brooding on a day like this

While seeing embers whiten and love die.

Yes, love lives best in its effect; and mine,

Full in its own life, yearns to live in yours.

Nor.Just so. I take and know you all at once.Your soul is disengaged so easily.Your face is there, I know you; give me time,Let me be proud and think you shall know me.My soul is slower: in a life I rollThe minute out whereto you condense yours—The whole slow circle round you I must move,To be just you. I look to a long lifeTo decompose this minute, prove its worth.'T is the sparks' long succession one by oneShall show you, in the end, what fire was crammedIn that mere stone you struck: how could you know,If it lay ever unproved in your sight,As now my heart lies? your own warmth would hideIts coldness, were it cold.

Nor.Just so. I take and know you all at once.

Your soul is disengaged so easily.

Your face is there, I know you; give me time,

Let me be proud and think you shall know me.

My soul is slower: in a life I roll

The minute out whereto you condense yours—

The whole slow circle round you I must move,

To be just you. I look to a long life

To decompose this minute, prove its worth.

'T is the sparks' long succession one by one

Shall show you, in the end, what fire was crammed

In that mere stone you struck: how could you know,

If it lay ever unproved in your sight,

As now my heart lies? your own warmth would hide

Its coldness, were it cold.

Con.But how prove, how?

Nor.Prove in my life, you ask?

Con.Quick, Norbert—how?

Nor.That 's easy told. I count life just a stuffTo try the soul's strength on, educe the man.Who keeps one end in view makes all things serveAs with the body—he who hurls a lanceOr heaps up stone on stone, shows strength alike:So must I seize and task all means to proveAnd show this soul of mine, you crown as yours,And justify us both.

Nor.That 's easy told. I count life just a stuff

To try the soul's strength on, educe the man.

Who keeps one end in view makes all things serve

As with the body—he who hurls a lance

Or heaps up stone on stone, shows strength alike:

So must I seize and task all means to prove

And show this soul of mine, you crown as yours,

And justify us both.

Con.Could you write books,Paint pictures! One sits down in povertyAnd writes or paints, with pity for the rich.

Con.Could you write books,

Paint pictures! One sits down in poverty

And writes or paints, with pity for the rich.

Nor.And loves one's painting and one's writing, then.And not one's mistress! All is best, believe,And we best as no other than we are.We live, and they experiment on life—Those poets, painters, all who stand aloofTo overlook the farther. Let us beThe thing they look at! I might take your faceAnd write of it and paint it—to what end?For whom? what pale dictatress in the airFeeds, smiling sadly, her fine ghost-like formWith earth's real blood and breath, the beauteous lifeShe makes despised forever? You are mine,Made for me, not for others in the world,Nor yet for that which I should call my art,The cold calm power to see how fair you look.I come to you; I leave you not, to writeOr paint. You are, I am: let Rubens therePaint us!

Nor.And loves one's painting and one's writing, then.

And not one's mistress! All is best, believe,

And we best as no other than we are.

We live, and they experiment on life—

Those poets, painters, all who stand aloof

To overlook the farther. Let us be

The thing they look at! I might take your face

And write of it and paint it—to what end?

For whom? what pale dictatress in the air

Feeds, smiling sadly, her fine ghost-like form

With earth's real blood and breath, the beauteous life

She makes despised forever? You are mine,

Made for me, not for others in the world,

Nor yet for that which I should call my art,

The cold calm power to see how fair you look.

I come to you; I leave you not, to write

Or paint. You are, I am: let Rubens there

Paint us!

Con.So, best!

Nor.I understand your soul,You live, and rightly sympathize with life,With action, power, success. This way is straight;And time were short, beside, to let me changeThe craft my childhood learnt: my craft shall serve.Men set me here to subjugate, enclose,Manure their barren lives, and force thence fruitFirst for themselves, and afterward for meIn the due tithe; the task of some one soul,Through ways of work appointed by the world.I am not bid create—men see no starTransfiguring my brow to warrant that—But find and bind and bring to bear their wills.So I began: to-night sees how I end.What if it see, too, power's first outbreak hereAmid the warmth, surprise and sympathy,And instincts of the heart that teach the head?What if the people have discerned at lengthThe dawn of the next nature, novel brainWhose will they venture in the place of theirs,Whose work, they trust, shall find them as novel waysTo untried heights which yet he only sees?I felt it when you kissed me. See this Queen,This people—in our phrase this mass of men—See how the mass lies passive to my handNow that my hand is plastic, with you byTo make the muscles iron! Oh, an endShall crown this issue as this crowns the first!My will be on the people! then, the strain,The grappling of the potter with his clay,The long uncertain struggle,—the successAnd consummation of the spirit-work,Some vase shape to the curl of the god's lip,While rounded fair for human sense to seeThe Graces in a dance men recognizeWith turbulent applause and laughs of heart!So triumph ever shall renew itself;Ever shall end in efforts higher yet,Ever begin ...

Nor.I understand your soul,

You live, and rightly sympathize with life,

With action, power, success. This way is straight;

And time were short, beside, to let me change

The craft my childhood learnt: my craft shall serve.

Men set me here to subjugate, enclose,

Manure their barren lives, and force thence fruit

First for themselves, and afterward for me

In the due tithe; the task of some one soul,

Through ways of work appointed by the world.

I am not bid create—men see no star

Transfiguring my brow to warrant that—

But find and bind and bring to bear their wills.

So I began: to-night sees how I end.

What if it see, too, power's first outbreak here

Amid the warmth, surprise and sympathy,

And instincts of the heart that teach the head?

What if the people have discerned at length

The dawn of the next nature, novel brain

Whose will they venture in the place of theirs,

Whose work, they trust, shall find them as novel ways

To untried heights which yet he only sees?

I felt it when you kissed me. See this Queen,

This people—in our phrase this mass of men—

See how the mass lies passive to my hand

Now that my hand is plastic, with you by

To make the muscles iron! Oh, an end

Shall crown this issue as this crowns the first!

My will be on the people! then, the strain,

The grappling of the potter with his clay,

The long uncertain struggle,—the success

And consummation of the spirit-work,

Some vase shape to the curl of the god's lip,

While rounded fair for human sense to see

The Graces in a dance men recognize

With turbulent applause and laughs of heart!

So triumph ever shall renew itself;

Ever shall end in efforts higher yet,

Ever begin ...

Con.I ever helping?

Nor.Thus!

(As he embraces her,theQueenenters.)

Con.Hist, madam! So have I performed my part.You see your gratitude's true decency,Norbert? A little slow in seeing it!Begin, to end the sooner! What 's a kiss?

Con.Hist, madam! So have I performed my part.

You see your gratitude's true decency,

Norbert? A little slow in seeing it!

Begin, to end the sooner! What 's a kiss?

Nor.Constance?

Con.Why, must I teach it you again?You want a witness to your dulness, sir?What was I saying these ten minutes long?Then I repeat—when some young handsome manLike you has acted out a part like yours,Is pleased to fall in love with one beyond,So very far beyond him, as he says—So hopelessly in love that but to speakWould prove him mad,—he thinks judiciously,And makes some insignificant good soul,Like me, his friend, adviser, confidant,And very stalking-horse to cover himIn following after what he dares not face—When his end 's gained—(sir, do you understand)When she, he dares not face, has loved him first,—May I not say so, madam?—tops his hope,And overpasses so his wildest dream,With glad consent of all, and most of herThe confidant who brought the same about—Why, in the moment when such joy explodes,I do hold that the merest gentlemanWill not start rudely from the stalking-horse,Dismiss it with a "There, enough of you!"Forget it, show his back unmannerly;But like a liberal heart will rather turnAnd say, "A tingling time of hope was ours;Betwixt the fears and falterings, we two livedA chanceful time in waiting for the prize:The confidant, the Constance, served not ill.And though I shall forget her in good time,Her use being answered now, as reason bids,Nay as herself bids from her heart of hearts,—Still, she has rights, the first thanks go to her,The first good praise goes to the prosperous tool,And the first—which is the last—rewarding kiss."

Con.Why, must I teach it you again?

You want a witness to your dulness, sir?

What was I saying these ten minutes long?

Then I repeat—when some young handsome man

Like you has acted out a part like yours,

Is pleased to fall in love with one beyond,

So very far beyond him, as he says—

So hopelessly in love that but to speak

Would prove him mad,—he thinks judiciously,

And makes some insignificant good soul,

Like me, his friend, adviser, confidant,

And very stalking-horse to cover him

In following after what he dares not face—

When his end 's gained—(sir, do you understand)

When she, he dares not face, has loved him first,

—May I not say so, madam?—tops his hope,

And overpasses so his wildest dream,

With glad consent of all, and most of her

The confidant who brought the same about—

Why, in the moment when such joy explodes,

I do hold that the merest gentleman

Will not start rudely from the stalking-horse,

Dismiss it with a "There, enough of you!"

Forget it, show his back unmannerly;

But like a liberal heart will rather turn

And say, "A tingling time of hope was ours;

Betwixt the fears and falterings, we two lived

A chanceful time in waiting for the prize:

The confidant, the Constance, served not ill.

And though I shall forget her in good time,

Her use being answered now, as reason bids,

Nay as herself bids from her heart of hearts,—

Still, she has rights, the first thanks go to her,

The first good praise goes to the prosperous tool,

And the first—which is the last—rewarding kiss."

Nor.Constance, it is a dream—ah, see, you smile!

Con.So, now his part being properly performed,Madam, I turn to you and finish mineAs duly; I do justice in my turn.Yes, madam, he has loved you—long and well;He could not hope to tell you so—'t was IWho served to prove your soul accessible,I led his thoughts on, drew them to their placeWhen they had wandered else into despair,And kept love constant toward its natural aim.Enough, my part is played; you stoop half-wayAnd meet us royally and spare our fears:'T is like yourself. He thanks you, so do I.Take him—with my full heart! my work is praisedBy what comes of it. Be you happy, both!Yourself—the only one on earth who can—Do all for him, much more than a mere heartWhich though warm is not useful in its warmthAs the silk vesture of a queen! fold thatAround him gently, tenderly. For him—For him,—he knows his own part!

Con.So, now his part being properly performed,

Madam, I turn to you and finish mine

As duly; I do justice in my turn.

Yes, madam, he has loved you—long and well;

He could not hope to tell you so—'t was I

Who served to prove your soul accessible,

I led his thoughts on, drew them to their place

When they had wandered else into despair,

And kept love constant toward its natural aim.

Enough, my part is played; you stoop half-way

And meet us royally and spare our fears:

'T is like yourself. He thanks you, so do I.

Take him—with my full heart! my work is praised

By what comes of it. Be you happy, both!

Yourself—the only one on earth who can—

Do all for him, much more than a mere heart

Which though warm is not useful in its warmth

As the silk vesture of a queen! fold that

Around him gently, tenderly. For him—

For him,—he knows his own part!

Nor.Have you done?I take the jest at last. Should I speak now?Was yours the wager, Constance, foolish child,Or did you but accept it? Well—at leastYou lose by it.

Nor.Have you done?

I take the jest at last. Should I speak now?

Was yours the wager, Constance, foolish child,

Or did you but accept it? Well—at least

You lose by it.

Con.Nay, madam, 't is your turn!Restrain him still from speech a little more,And make him happier as more confident!Pity him, madam, he is timid yet!Mark, Norbert! Do not shrink now! Here I yieldMy whole right in you to the Queen, observe!With her go put in practice the great schemesYou teem with, follow the career else closed—Be all you cannot be except by her!Behold her!—Madam, say for pity's sakeAnything—frankly say you love him! ElseHe 'll not believe it: there 's more earnest inHis fear than you conceive: I know the man!

Con.Nay, madam, 't is your turn!

Restrain him still from speech a little more,

And make him happier as more confident!

Pity him, madam, he is timid yet!

Mark, Norbert! Do not shrink now! Here I yield

My whole right in you to the Queen, observe!

With her go put in practice the great schemes

You teem with, follow the career else closed—

Be all you cannot be except by her!

Behold her!—Madam, say for pity's sake

Anything—frankly say you love him! Else

He 'll not believe it: there 's more earnest in

His fear than you conceive: I know the man!

Nor.I know the woman somewhat, and confessI thought she had jested better: she beginsTo overcharge her part. I gravely waitYour pleasure, madam: where is my reward?

Nor.I know the woman somewhat, and confess

I thought she had jested better: she begins

To overcharge her part. I gravely wait

Your pleasure, madam: where is my reward?

Queen.Norbert, this wild girl (whom I recognizeScarce more than you do, in her fancy-fit,Eccentric speech and variable mirth,Not very wise perhaps and somewhat bold,Yet suitable, the whole night's work being strange)—May still be right: I may do well to speakAnd make authentic what appears a dreamTo even myself. For, what she says is true:Yes, Norbert—what you spoke just now of love,Devotion, stirred no novel sense in me,But justified a warmth felt long before.Yes, from the first—I loved you, I shall say:Strange! but I do grow stronger, now 't is said.Your courage helps mine: you did well to speakTo-night, the night that crowns your twelve-months' toil:But still I had not waited to discernYour heart so long, believe me! From the firstThe source of so much zeal was almost plain,In absence even of your own words just nowWhich hazarded the truth. 'T is very strange,But takes a happy ending—in your loveWhich mine meets: be it so! as you choose me,So I choose you.

Queen.Norbert, this wild girl (whom I recognize

Scarce more than you do, in her fancy-fit,

Eccentric speech and variable mirth,

Not very wise perhaps and somewhat bold,

Yet suitable, the whole night's work being strange)

—May still be right: I may do well to speak

And make authentic what appears a dream

To even myself. For, what she says is true:

Yes, Norbert—what you spoke just now of love,

Devotion, stirred no novel sense in me,

But justified a warmth felt long before.

Yes, from the first—I loved you, I shall say:

Strange! but I do grow stronger, now 't is said.

Your courage helps mine: you did well to speak

To-night, the night that crowns your twelve-months' toil:

But still I had not waited to discern

Your heart so long, believe me! From the first

The source of so much zeal was almost plain,

In absence even of your own words just now

Which hazarded the truth. 'T is very strange,

But takes a happy ending—in your love

Which mine meets: be it so! as you choose me,

So I choose you.

Nor.And worthily you choose.I will not be unworthy your esteem,No, madam. I do love you; I will meetYour nature, now I know it. This was well.I see,—you dare and you are justified:But none had ventured such experiment,Less versed than you in nobleness of heart,Less confident of finding such in me.I joy that thus you test me ere you grantThe dearest, richest, beauteousest and bestOf women to my arms: 't is like yourself.So—back again into my part 's set words—Devotion to the uttermost is yours,But no, you cannot, madam, even you,Create in me the love our Constance does.Or—something truer to the tragic phrase—Not yon magnolia-bell superb with scentInvites a certain insect—that 's myself—But the small eye-flower nearer to the ground.I take this lady.

Nor.And worthily you choose.

I will not be unworthy your esteem,

No, madam. I do love you; I will meet

Your nature, now I know it. This was well.

I see,—you dare and you are justified:

But none had ventured such experiment,

Less versed than you in nobleness of heart,

Less confident of finding such in me.

I joy that thus you test me ere you grant

The dearest, richest, beauteousest and best

Of women to my arms: 't is like yourself.

So—back again into my part 's set words—

Devotion to the uttermost is yours,

But no, you cannot, madam, even you,

Create in me the love our Constance does.

Or—something truer to the tragic phrase—

Not yon magnolia-bell superb with scent

Invites a certain insect—that 's myself—

But the small eye-flower nearer to the ground.

I take this lady.

Con.Stay—not hers, the trap—Stay, Norbert—that mistake were worst of all!He is too cunning, madam! It was I,I, Norbert, who ...

Con.Stay—not hers, the trap—

Stay, Norbert—that mistake were worst of all!

He is too cunning, madam! It was I,

I, Norbert, who ...

Nor.You, was it, Constance? Then,But for the grace of this divinest hourWhich gives me you, I might not pardon here!I am the Queen's; she only knows my brain:She may experiment upon my heartAnd I instruct her too by the result.But you, Sweet, you who know me, who so longHave told my heartbeats over, held my lifeIn those white hands of yours,—it is not well!

Nor.You, was it, Constance? Then,

But for the grace of this divinest hour

Which gives me you, I might not pardon here!

I am the Queen's; she only knows my brain:

She may experiment upon my heart

And I instruct her too by the result.

But you, Sweet, you who know me, who so long

Have told my heartbeats over, held my life

In those white hands of yours,—it is not well!

Con.Tush! I have said it, did I not say it all?The life, for her—the heartbeats, for her sake!

Con.Tush! I have said it, did I not say it all?

The life, for her—the heartbeats, for her sake!

Nor.Enough! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test?There 's not the meanest woman in the world,Not she I least could love in all the world,Whom, did she love me, had love proved itself,I dare insult as you insult me now.Constance, I could say, if it must be said,"Take back the soul you offer, I keep mine!"But—"Take the soul still quivering on your hand,The soul so offered, which I cannot use,And, please you, give it to some playful friend,For—what 's the trifle he requites me with?"I, tempt a woman, to amuse a man.That two may mock her heart if it succumb?No: fearing God and standing 'neath his heaven,I would not dare insult a woman so,Were she the meanest woman in the world,And he, I cared to please, ten emperors!

Nor.Enough! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test?

There 's not the meanest woman in the world,

Not she I least could love in all the world,

Whom, did she love me, had love proved itself,

I dare insult as you insult me now.

Constance, I could say, if it must be said,

"Take back the soul you offer, I keep mine!"

But—"Take the soul still quivering on your hand,

The soul so offered, which I cannot use,

And, please you, give it to some playful friend,

For—what 's the trifle he requites me with?"

I, tempt a woman, to amuse a man.

That two may mock her heart if it succumb?

No: fearing God and standing 'neath his heaven,

I would not dare insult a woman so,

Were she the meanest woman in the world,

And he, I cared to please, ten emperors!

Con.Norbert!

Nor.I love once as I live but once.What case is this to think or talk about?I love you. Would it mend the case at allIf such a step as this killed love in me?Your part were done: account to God for it!But mine—could murdered love get up again,And kneel to whom you please to designate,And make you mirth? It is too horrible.You did not know this, Constance? now you knowThat body and soul have each one life, but one:And here 's my love, here, living, at your feet.

Nor.I love once as I live but once.

What case is this to think or talk about?

I love you. Would it mend the case at all

If such a step as this killed love in me?

Your part were done: account to God for it!

But mine—could murdered love get up again,

And kneel to whom you please to designate,

And make you mirth? It is too horrible.

You did not know this, Constance? now you know

That body and soul have each one life, but one:

And here 's my love, here, living, at your feet.

Con.See the Queen! Norbert—this one more last word—If thus you have taken jest for earnest—thusLoved me in earnest ...

Con.See the Queen! Norbert—this one more last word—

If thus you have taken jest for earnest—thus

Loved me in earnest ...

Nor.Ah, no jest holds here!Where is the laughter in which jests break up,And what this horror that grows palpable?Madam—why grasp you thus the balcony?Have I done ill? Have I not spoken truth?How could I other? Was it not your test,To try me, what my love for Constance meant?Madam, your royal soul itself approves,The first, that I should choose thus! so one takesA beggar,—asks him, what would buy his child?And then approves the expected laugh of scornReturned as something noble from the rags.Speak, Constance, I 'm the beggar! Ha, what 's this?You two glare each at each like panthers now.Constance, the world fades; only you stand there!You did not, in to-night's wild whirl of things,Sell me—your soul of souls, for any price?No—no—'t is easy to believe in you!Was it your love's mad trial to o'ertopMine by this vain self-sacrifice? well, still—Though I might curse, I love you. I am loveAnd cannot change: love's self is at your feet![TheQueengoes out.

Nor.Ah, no jest holds here!

Where is the laughter in which jests break up,

And what this horror that grows palpable?

Madam—why grasp you thus the balcony?

Have I done ill? Have I not spoken truth?

How could I other? Was it not your test,

To try me, what my love for Constance meant?

Madam, your royal soul itself approves,

The first, that I should choose thus! so one takes

A beggar,—asks him, what would buy his child?

And then approves the expected laugh of scorn

Returned as something noble from the rags.

Speak, Constance, I 'm the beggar! Ha, what 's this?

You two glare each at each like panthers now.

Constance, the world fades; only you stand there!

You did not, in to-night's wild whirl of things,

Sell me—your soul of souls, for any price?

No—no—'t is easy to believe in you!

Was it your love's mad trial to o'ertop

Mine by this vain self-sacrifice? well, still—

Though I might curse, I love you. I am love

And cannot change: love's self is at your feet![TheQueengoes out.

Con.Feel my heart; let it die against your own!

Nor.Against my own. Explain not; let this be!This is life's height.

Nor.Against my own. Explain not; let this be!

This is life's height.

Con.Yours, yours, yours!

Nor.You and I—Why care by what meanders we are hereI' the centre of the labyrinth? Men have diedTrying to find this place, which we have found.

Nor.You and I—

Why care by what meanders we are here

I' the centre of the labyrinth? Men have died

Trying to find this place, which we have found.

Con.Found, found!

Nor.Sweet, never fear what she can do!We are past harm now.

Nor.Sweet, never fear what she can do!

We are past harm now.

Con.On the breast of God.I thought of men—as if you were a man.Tempting him with a crown!

Con.On the breast of God.

I thought of men—as if you were a man.

Tempting him with a crown!

Nor.This must end here:It is too perfect.

Nor.This must end here:

It is too perfect.

Con.There 's the music stopped.What measured heavy tread? It is one blazeAbout me and within me.

Con.There 's the music stopped.

What measured heavy tread? It is one blaze

About me and within me.

Nor.Oh, some deathWill run its sudden finger round this sparkAnd sever us from the rest!

Nor.Oh, some death

Will run its sudden finger round this spark

And sever us from the rest!

Con.And so do well.Now the doors open.

Con.And so do well.

Now the doors open.

Nor.'T is the guard comes.

Con.Kiss!

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