>F HADOWS THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Pi 4^ZT ' &4f &?** A MASQUE OF SHADOWS N Vcnc WIND <> v . i Mr H •.:■ NGS Poems TOWN WD COL \ 1RV I'O A MASQUE OF SHADOWS BY ARTHUR E. J. LEGGE LONDON: DAVID NUTT 57-59 LONG ACRE 1902 ?R L f 3»^ PR/JVC/PAL CI 1. 1 RA CTERS Athblstan Michael Hermione Corai.ie 922009 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS SCENE I Exterior of a village church on the shores of the Lake of Como. Through the open door the interior of the church is visible, and prominent near the entrance is a gorgeously dressed figure of the J "irgin Mary. Behind the church the Lake glitters in the sunlight. Athelst an is lying on the turf near the door of the church. Athelstan Now for a day-dream — cultured taste requires it, Fashion demands it, before this lake of blue, Fluted with gold where the glorious noon-day fires it ; Dolce — etcetera ; — the proper thing to do. Here custom gathers from dull, commercial nations Sad, fat, pathetic, worthy children of the age, Laughably jogs at their slow imaginations, Calls for an opera, and offers them a stage. A A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Each of us labours to polish up the fancies Counted poetical, and suited to the scene, — Lake ! — mountains ! — sunshine ! — Italy ! — Romance is Not so very threadbare as she might have been. Poor old Romance! How bravely have I followed her O'erslopes of foolishness and flats of commonplace, Fought through the mist of mockery that swallowed her, Made for my heart's goal the vision of her face ! r day has the cruel journey tired me, Weary and foiled have I halted on the hill ; One noble thought through the darkest hour inspired me, One voice was never hushed, — I heat it still. Dead are my worldly hopes : faded is ambition ; Love has eluded me ; wealth has missed my way : Far on the road that the pious call perdition, Stubborn as in early youth, I hold to-day This to be the first and only end of living, — Just to taste and learn and suffer, — hear and see, Make the most of moments that the Gods are giving, Count it rather good to do, — but best to be; A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 3 Not too much expectant, though despairing never, Dreaming, laughing, loving, while windy Fortune's breath Blows my bark adventurous on Life's broad river Down to the sunset and the ocean pools of Death. An old Peasant Woman enters the church and kneels down before the image of the Virgin. I fancy some aesthetic prig might say Fate seemed a trifle " obvious " to-day, Granting appropriate pathos for the scenery, — Like sermons pointed at a vacant Deanery. This poor old woman, bowed with toil and years, Whose life of drudgery has no time for tears, Confiding lays the burden of her soul Before this tawdry, painted, waxen doll. Our usual cant had envied her, — yet smiled Indulgent pity on the grown-up child Who learns not of our wisdom ; — ah, what fools Are those who disavow the ancient schools, But feign to mourn departed dogmas yet ! I hate this old imposture of regret ! Pilate's unanswered riddle may have haunted My path and saddened me ; it has not daunted My fierce resolve to banish all pretence, All compromise demanding of the sense 4 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS A refuge from the spirit. Nought is clear ; But little hope involves as little fear. He who his own demand for pity smothers Has sometimes more, perhaps, to spare for others. Cora lie comes in. COKAI II. Shall I guess at your thoughts, dear friend ? — You play- Such various parts I could barely tell What cord had been touched in your heart to-day By the noon-day magic, the dreamy spell Of this rich, translucent riot of blue That engulphs and governs earth, water, and sky, Till reality swoons in its cool, deep hue, Where even the passionate sunbeams die With their yellow dissolved, — and my warm red blood Loses its crimson phrenzy and flows With a chained, blue calm, like a mist-veiled flood Unflushed by the flame where the sunset glows. ! >o you like my nonsense ? — and what of your sense, As you lie there, blinking your thoughtful eyes ? Is your mood emotional, wrapt, intense, Grimly humorous, gravely wise? A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 5 Is laughter or sentiment reigning now ? Do tears or mockery colour your view ? There is only one clear brand on your brow, — You are always a poet at heart Athelstan And you Are ever a poem. Oh, sweet wild bird ! Tender and sad as a woodland sigh When wavering leaves on the boughs are stirred In an autumn whisper, I hear the cry Of a worn-out passion, whose haunting shade Wails o'er the tomb of its hope in my soul, As I think of that brief, dear dream, when we played Love's game of folly : 'tis strange that the bowl Should carry the scent of the wine so long With the last drop dry, — that the weary brain Should ring with the sound of a phantom song That will never be sung in the world again. Coralie Are you sure of your " never " ? Athelstan Too sure, alas ! Our spirits have met on a moonless night 6 A MASQUE 01 SHADOWS To call through the dusk, and 1 — and ; Mine is too heavy and your- too 1 Fertile yol ich un: Still may hum Oil my lips, — hut I dare not look Through the It heart's blood written, a The worth of your kisses. I close the book. Cokai II What are any k W ,.rth ? lake them for the blossom thrown ltly on your pate! rth, With ;eolian laughter blown 1 1 re and th< - q t<> bril Through the cloud in Nature' M( ii ronton bird I .u\ the dance "t" butterflii Love is like a summ Rich with drowsy warmth and light, as the dreams that play Through the sensuous folds o: Fill the wine-cup I Taste the fruit ! Breathe the i^rfume of the rose '. - :\ the maggot gnaws the root, Flowers are faded. Summer goes. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 7 Athelstan I thank you for your sermon ; but you preach To one who, disillusioned, yet must follow This phantom ; truths that Life has failed to teach Sound empty from your lips. Though all prove hollow While breath is in me I shall seek the face Of her whose thoughts find in my soul a mirror. For one brief hour you filled the vacant place. Coralie And now your wisdom shuns that ancient error ! I, also, grieve for unattained desire Just at this moment; while your soul is burning For Love whereto even Angels might aspire, / want some chocolates, — and this humble yearning Seems void of all fulfilment. Oh, look there ! Surely a perfect picture might be painted Of yonder peasant woman's silent prayer, Within the cool dark church. How worn, how sainted Her poor old wrinkled face ! I fear the stones Are likely to repay with rheumatism The adoring zeal that bends her aged bones, — Which our good folk call heresy and schism. 8 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Oh, why should this fair world, that might contain Kternal stores of youth, strength, rapture, beauty, Be poisoned with the lethal draught of pain, Sorrow, old age, constraint, and tyrant duty ? Our dreams are anodynes. Her toil, her faith, My life that plays with power and love and laughter, Are screens wherewith we hope to hide the wraith That haunts us here, that threatens us hereafter. Yet fain would I be foolish while I ran, Wisdom's a doubtful drug for the complexion. I want sod A I Ml 1 I \N Might not this young man Serve as a substitute for your refection? MlCHAEL conies out of the church and stands :.' the Lake. Michael 'Tis good to be out once more in the air. The damp, chill breath of this cave of prayer Strikes cold to my blood. How long will it last, This fetish taught by knaves of the past To fools of the present, — the old, dead sham Of the wrath of God and the martyred Lamb, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS c And the sickly creed that would fain control The natural thirst of a human soul For life's rich vintage ? Well, it may do For a worn-out ship with a slavish crew, For this woman who bends a suppliant knee To a pink wax image, — but pardon me, Good priests, if I break from your well-planned net Wallowing cowardice, weak regret, The fraud that would barter a selfish vice For as surely a selfish Paradise, The cant of a brotherly love that throws Your life at the feet of your fiercest foes, The lofty word and the grovelling deed, — Poison and pap ! Let my soul be freed From your servile terrors. I take my place Here in the ranks of a conquering race. I will wrest my right from the hand of Fate, From the women that love and the men that hate, I will tax all knowledge and taste all joys, I will fathom all passions, and choose for toys The fires that flame in the heart of the world. I will move like a lonely meteor hurled On an unruled track in the skies of Thought, Beautiful, strong, resistless, — nought Shall stand in my path. I will make me king Of a new proud order, governing io A MASQUE OF SHADOWS These human sheep with a pungent rule That shall blot the coward, the slave, the fool From the legion of Man ; I will raise my kind To the level and rank of the gods, unbind The chains of old folly, and lead them free Worthy to walk through the earth with me. Coralie Beautiful, radiant, godlike, as the dream Of some old Grecian sculptor, or the theme Of frenzied Sappho, or the white-limbed youth Who brought to foam-born Cytherea ruth And amorous unattainment, now appears My star, who beckoned through the gloom of years. Fair Sir Michael Who art thou, dainty damsel ? Know That, like the graceful god of lyre and bow, I ask, not yield, subjection. If thy brain Throbs with the thought of binding in the train Of captives to thy beauty one slave more, Abandon that false hope. I never wore A woman's fetters. I am one who treads A trampled pathway o'er submissive heads. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS n I will not toil to flatter, stoop to sue ; But win by force of conquest. If my view Seem brutal, coarse, presumptuous, — hurt thy pride, Nettle thy sex, — I pray thee, stand aside. I have no leisure for the drawing-room game Of gossip, jest, and compliment ; — the flame I kindle forges life and death. Coralie Your mood Chimes well with mine. Weary of being wooed In the old dull way by those who give their sighs, Their clumsy flatteries, their familiar lies, A spare half-hour, sometimes a foolish soul, For love — desire — how call you it ? their goal Is this warm, breathing body, — weary, then, Of the loose-lipped insincerities of men, Your half-contemptuous challenge I take up. Pardon a bold demand ! Be pleased to sup This night with me. I own a humble nest In a warm hollow of the mountain's breast, Not far removed. There will my table stand In the dim garden, screened on either hand By grey rock ramparts, chestnut woods, and slopes Terraced with tiny cornfields, meshed with ropes 12 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Of trellised greenery by festooning vines. Odorous flowers, ripe fruit, and dainty wines, Nature and art perfecting wholesome fare, Faint, dreamy music, soft, voluptuous air, The slumbering cypresses, the velvet sky, The stars, the lake, the moonlight, — worthy fly Think you this picture of the spider's web Can draw you for an evening's flow and ebb ? MlCHABL Which is the fly and which the spider time Alone can show. I thank you. I will climb This evening to your fortress, and begin The siege that you have challenged. CORALIE I shall win. But, meanwhile, will you walk with me a space? From where the road turns yonder is the place Of our encounter clear. That brooding hill Slopes to my garden gateway. Michael As you will. [They go out. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 13 Athelstan " Femina e cosa mobil per natura ! " Are platitudes immortal ? That one line to-day, As when Petrarch impatient wrote it of his Laura, Gives the whole truth of womankind we dare to say. A creed, a dress, a sugar-plum, a game, a lover, Whate'er the kind and quality, she likes them new. Her motives ? There we halt. Could Solomon discover The riddle's right solution? though he tried some few ! This woman nearly loved me once ; and altogether I loved her for a season. Is it turning cold ? How foolish to have shivered in this warm bright weather ; Better to leave these graveyard ghosts. The tale is told. [He goes out. * The old Peasant Woman comes out of the church. Old Woman Surely the Holy Mother has heard my prayer. Her blessed smile is afloat in the peaceful air. At her feet I leave my morning's burden of care. 14 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS My melons will fatten ; the warm good sun will shine To ripen the corn, to purple the grape on the vine. There will be bread in the winter. What gifts are mine ! But best is the love by the sainted Virgin given To soothe the tired-out hearts that have toiled and striven ; A Woman to hear the cry of women in Heaven. SCENE II A lonely spot on the side of a mountain over the Lake of Cowo. Hermione alone. Hermione Angelus rings ! How the deep tones go floating To moan and murmur through the golden air, Reproachful voice of lonely bells denoting To toil-worn souls an hour of peace and prayer. Wail of a dying Faith ! Dethroned and banished From those high places where its ruined tower Shelters the mournful ghost of glory vanished, — Feigned homage, idle form, pretended power, — The broken genius seeks her humble dwelling Amid the lowly homes of them that hear Nature's eternal voices waning, swelling, With all the childlike trust, the reverent fear That furnish creeds. Far from her lost dominion She haunts the wood where mountain torrents roar, 1 6 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Sighing to simple hearts, or, with bent pinion, Droops to the village street that lines the shore Of yon blue waves, and threads the gleaming waters To upbraid the roving boatman, and to cry O'er land and lake for unforgetful daughters, For faithful sons, — and silence gives reply ! Oh, cold stone image at the roadway's turning, With rude, love-guided labour carved to keep The flame on altars of remembrance burning In hearts that climb their Calvary, — the steep, Long mountain-chain of life, — Thou art the token Of sacred suffering, of eternal love ! Though they who claim his countenance have broken The law thy Prototype declared above All earthly codes, yet nought annuls the meaning Of truth the world pretends to hold, and scorns, — The burden of that head so tortured, leaning To the scarred shoulder, with its crown of thorns Wounding the gentle face. Our old creeds languish, Losing their light beneath the dusk of doubt ; Yet will that look, holy with love and anguish, Survive the priestly legends blotted out. Christ ! Now we dare not own thy former title. If Gods there be, beyond our furthest ken Their kingdom lies ; but ever fresh and vital Lives the devotion of a Man for men. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 17 Thy work, a deathless print on pages human Remains, but Time unfolds the eternal plan. Dare I believe that to the hand of Woman May pass the torch held flaming first by Man ? Prophet or God ! The poor, blind, helpless mortals Who need a Hearkener to hear their cry, Who lay their load before thy Temple's portals, Grow weary, waiting for some faint reply More certain than the vague assurance given Of Paradise for those who prove their worth. They doubt the promise of a Sunday Heaven Who now begin to see this week-day Earth As one great living entity, and reason That, as Death deals with substance, so the soul, Endowed with separate birthright for a season, May melt at last in the all-embracing Whole, Gaining perhaps therefrom a wider being, A larger personality, a range Beyond all thought of learning, hearing, seeing, — Or some undreamed, uncomprehended change. But vainly do we plumb the unsounded ocean To whose dark bed our souls one day will sink, While we are tossing in the white commotion Of foam-crowned surface waters. Link by link The cable strains. Be mine the task to waken B 18 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Courage in drooping hearts that know not hope, To bid them leave the little harbour shaken With angry winds, sever the wave-worn rope, And steer for the wide sea with no misgiving, Far from the coast where pleasant havens lie, Confident only that I^ove's light is living, Though the sun fail them and the cold stars die. A 1 n conus in \\ Ml l STAN Drunk and dizzy with all the splendour Wrought by the waning tiny. Crimson hour of colours that render Moods for the soul enchanted, tender, ( hords that the fairies play, I throb with the glow of an ancient fire Reckoned as dead with the folly of youth, I am wooed by the chant of a mystic choir, And the song of truth. 1 [< re, oh here, Where the regal bosom of mountain slopes to the sky, The faint far voices of all that is earthly die, And pure, cold, clear Is the atmosphere Of this mental summit, where Thought, with a mien austere, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 19 Broods o'er the human cry. Now for a space are the torturing questions lulled, The desolate hunger, the ache, and the anguish cease ; With a bfain no longer dulled By the load of importunate passion, I taste of peace. My soul goes out like a laughing brook Through the forest of dreams, when the wind is still, To follow the gully of rocks and look For the river beyond the hill, Where the tiny current at last may blend With the deep, mysterious flood that flows Into the shadow where all streams end As there they rose. And surely to meet my mood Fate sendeth a woman with understanding eyes Wherein more calm and comfort lies Than is even gained from that magic food Of the wanderer's hunger — solitude. Fair lonely spirit dwelling in this wild place, Fain would I talk with thee ! Fresh- wakened memories come from thy haunting face, There are ghosts in thine eyes. What news of our nameless race Hast thou for me ? 2 o A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Hermione There is no news, brother. There is only the distant cheer Of the heart that cries to another, Of the love that has conquered fear. The world is asleep in its arctic night Where pale souls glide through the frozen gloom, Scattered and dim are the gleams of light Piercing the pall of doom, But the few are keeping their lanterns bright. And truth has been saved from the tomb, And many a hard-won field has been fought By the chosen soldiers who take their stand Wielding the weapons of armoured Thought. Are you one of the band ? Athelstan In all humility I claim to be One of that tribe whose demon bids them stray Through woodland path and wilderness, away From formal garden-plots and. prison-walls. All my life long Has my heart heard the unknown spirit that calls, Cloaking her message in the wild bird's song, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 21 The surge and whirl of foamy waterfalls, The meadow-whisper born of flowering grasses, The summer-hush where bees Hum faint beneath the trees, The sweet low chime when rippling water passes. From earliest boyhood in my bosom ached The blank of lonely banishment, the thirst Ever unslaked For wine no mortal vineyard yields. Accursed I trod the crowded paving-stones of life, I joined in all delights, desires of men, Made firm my sinews in the playful strife Of sport ; curbed brain and body ; strove to pen My hopes and dreams within the little round Of daily tasks — to draw the measured load Of common aspirations — harnessed — bound — A yoke-worn bullock, with a patch of ground A manger and a goad. But all was vain. Through beating footsteps on my workshop floor Again, again, again I heard that voice float by the open door, And, casting off convention's gilded chain, My spirit led me out o'er wold and moor, Heedless of all that worldlings hope to gain. 22 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS I knew there was no peace, No calmness, no conviction anywhere. I knew the unanswered questions would not cease To rend my brain, to strip my reason bare Of all illusions. But I chose my part. Custom, authority I counted nought, Parted from worldly prudence, fear or fashion, Looked in my heart to learn what nature taught, And found no certain impulse there save passion, Passion of love and thought. Then, hoisting sail, before that wind I went. I tried the love of humankind. I toiled To fit my soul for an environment Of humble self-forgetfulness, unsoiled By cankering ambition. Thwarted, foiled, I laboured on in dark unheeded ways To help the poor dumb multitude, to raise Some downcast brother from the mire, — and found Much mildew, drought, and blight, and barren ground, A thin small harvest after many days, Which when I came to store Left my fierce heart as empty as before. I tried the love of women. Surely there Must lie the gate to that mysterious land My soul would fain discover. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 23 I took my heart's whole fortune in my hand, And went into the market-place, to stand Till one should bring for sale from anywhere The dream-life of a lover. And many a painted hope I bought with grief, And many a burning hour of anguish tasted. Faith proved a snare and passion played the thief. Bitter the bargain ; hungry Love denied, Or rapture false and brief, Then long regret for all the truth that died, The tears, the travail wasted. I tried the love of learning. Rough and steep The pathway through that cobweb world the brain Weaves for its habitation. But the smile Of sunbeams bathed its rocks, and for a while My worn corporeal part was lulled to sleep, Its anguish blotted out by mental strain As sunlight murders lamplight. Cool and deep The oblivion-bearing waters that I drank ; I felt the wind of freedom on my face, I heard unearthly whispers float through space, I breathed strange balm from flowers on every bank. But oft the vision broke, And to the world that claimed me I awoke, To take once more the burden on my back, 24 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Problems the mind must probe and lusts that rack The weary flesh. Then, final stage, I learned To read the grim law branded on the wall ; In each new fire of thought a heart is burned : To know is nothing, but to feel is all. And now I walk through earth, A pilgrim who but lacks a pilgrima Reading the book of life from page to Sure of my own incompetence to . e story's worth, Still glial re i id there a feeble spark Of hope and love, with purpose I to pay rj to the voice that calls me through the \ Of mortal cares and questions and desires, Knowing that those alone can face the dark Who do not fear the day. Hermione Have you no larger creed? A 1 HKI STAN I scarce would claim For this poor bridle on my thought and deed So proud a name. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 25 Surely a creed must hold some right divine O'er the free reason it was forged to fetter. If souls require a passport, here is mine ! Have you a better? Hermione I am a woman ; I have trod the road That other women tread ; a garden path Roofed in by shady boughs — rolled, weeded, swept — Bordered with flawless turf, and lost beyond A barred and bolted gate. Young blood was doomed To hours of anger and impatient scorn For this my chained and changeless womanhood. I longed with envious impotence to share Man's wider destiny. I coveted The freedom of his choice, the power to taste Wonderful vintage of experience. I fancied that the road to wisdom lay Among the crags of passion, through the groves Of unknown pleasure, o'er the broad vague plain Of public toil, and pierced, beyond my sight, The dark and stormy places of the world. But slowly have I plumbed profounder truth And seen the starlight poured on woman's way. Not by the mud-stained robe, nor by the tears Proclaiming lawless thought, rebellious lust, 26 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS She wins the crown of knowledge, but she finds A purer path for her secluded feet. Take now your own confession ! You have drunk From all the waterways of life, laid bare The roots of good and evil. Has your soul Gathered much comfort there ? Worthy reward For floundering through the labyrinthine bog To reach no sunnier climate after all Than this grey cloudland, where the damp mist folds A curtain round your heart ! I look beyond The blank of your horizon. Far away I see the dawn, where long-deluded hopes Shall find accomplishment, and old foiled dreams Blossom in golden truth. Yes, I have faith, I have a creed, worth all your dreary stock Of dog-eared, threadbare wisdom, scornful mirth, And dumb endurance. I shall see this world Survive its dead delusions, learn at last To count all life one homogeneous whole, Adjust the delicate balance, now deranged, Of the mighty mainspring, sex, soften the male, Strengthen the female, till the new race comes. Thus will each human soul accept its place As part of something so colossal, grand, Mysterious, that the old desires and hopes, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 27 The individual consciousness, will fade In pure, transparent ocean-depths of love Undreamed of; not the love of one for one, No, nor of one for all ; a mystery Folding within its compass all the loves Mankind has ever known, adding yet more, Which we, still blinded by the childish dream Of separate personality, must learn To reach by strenuous thought. So will depart Clamour of passion, pain of questioning The sphynx of doubt, all those unruly storms Whose buffet marred you. We shall satisfy Body and soul with perfect harmonies. Even now I hear them. I am going forth To soothe the quivering world. No more, no more Shall man be plunged in seas of apathy, Or need to tell the story you have told. Athelstan Dreamer of beautiful dreams ! Such hopes were ever the fruit of a virgin soil Ere the land be furrowed by years of toil, And the ploughing of countless teams. Gladly enough would I share Your pleasant, Utopian creed, but alas ! I know 28 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS That obdurate Time will wither and Fate will tear Your visions, and you will go Through the rough, dark valley where I have walked. The passions you thought to have missed, the care, The doubt and the sorrow, are lurking there. They are watching your steps from the caves below, And will not be baulked. Farewell ! The marching hosts of the night Sweep silently on with their banner of gloom. I shall ask, when we meet again, If your soul has cheated the hounds of doom, If the mortal burden has proved so light. And the mortal path so plain. [He goes out. Hermione How dare he lift his warning hand to cast A shadow o'er my thoughts, hoping to blast My radiant aspirations with the breath Of mockery ? Poor disdainful slave of death ! Thinks he to drag me downward with a sneer ? Ah no ! His voice was gentle. Calm and clear His eyes looked through their sadness like a veil. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 29 How my heart answered when he told the tale Of wasted toil and conflict ! Can / fail? Are you alive, then, doubt ? Oh, brave, kind heart, I would so sure a comrade might have part In my long labour. Yet am I ashamed Of such weak thought. Since first my purpose flamed Clear in the sky before me, I have known That to the crest of Truth my pathway lies alone. Oh, voices whispering through the chestnut boughs, Oh, shining eyes, agleam from yonder stars, I own your grave rebuke. Eternal vows Hold me a willing prisoner. Though their bars Gave brief admittance to one thought that mars The peace diffusing in my soul, before, — A hush like this deep night, where fiery cars Carry the meteor hopes, — still, doubt once more Dies in lake-murmurs breathed faint o'er the haunted shore. The fleshly tumult fades j my heart grows calm. White with the first pale silver of the moon, Sweet with the fragrant breath, the soothing balm 30 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Of dew-bathed flowers beneath the dusk. How soon Shall strength and peace be blended, — night with noon,- Till the old sexual strife be cast away, And all the mortal octaves sound in tune On life's wide key-board when the passions play ? Oh, mountain-torrents, waft an answer through your spray ! SCENE III The garden of Coralie's Villa. Night. Coralie and Michael seated on a bench. Coralie Love, you have conquered. In your hands I lay The key of doors that guard my joy and sorrow, Protecting memories of yesterday, And dreams that formed a rampart for to-morrow, I ask no pledge, no vow. I care not for the future or the past. Time but began with our delirious Now, Nor ends while that shall last. Once, looking on the dainty pleasure-ground, The Watteau-picture that a girl is shown, Well-framed and labelled " Life," My hopes were wont to wander till they found Me ruling on the legendary throne That waits the fabled wife. 32 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS But now I look No longer for a plain coherent plot From Destiny, who wrote me in her book And quite forgot Whether she framed me for domestic joys, Family prayers, cooks, knitting, hearth and home, Love, duty, and obedience, girls and boys, All the prim paradise, or purposed me to roam A careless gipsy through the meadow-lands, The woods, the wastes, the heather, Scattering life's flowers with my wanton hands, Or binding them together In nosegays that should please me for an hour or so lire they passed where all things go. Michael How long shall a mouldy tradition Encumber the pathway of truth ? How long shall a woman's ambition, The splendour and pride of her youth, The lips made for love, the majestic And eloquent curve of her limbs, Be consumed on an altar domestic With appropriate chanting of hymns ? A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 33 Not for you such a hypocrite's heaven ! Not for you so unlovely a doom ! To be yoked, overburdened, and driven Down the wheel-ruts that end in the tomb, Never tasting the fragrance of roses, Never breathing the coolness of dew, In a desert that custom encloses With a wall for your sex, — not for you ! Like the sleep-laden flowers that scent all Your garden's voluptuous night, You are vital, untamed, elemental — Irresponsible child of delight ! The imperial purple, the charter Of freedom was yours from your birth. You were made not to cringe nor to barter With sanctified hucksters the mirth, Warm blood, and high courage that move you To defiance of precept and rule, For their frigid consent to approve you, And a prize for good conduct at school. Our vessel is lifting her anchor, Let us wave our farewell to the shore, To the bigots whose envious rancour Shall pursue and deny us no more. c 34 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS We will sail for the tropical splendour Of Love's equatorial land, Where the wind weaves a harmony tender From wavelets that lisp on the sand, Where the senses are wrapped in the coma Of long lazy days like a swoon, Till they wake to the wafted aroma Of a night where the luminous moon Bathes a world of enchanted illusion In her rivers of silvery blue, Revealing the floral profusion And the colours they blend and subdue. With a joy that no fears are benumbing While the long dream of passion shall last, We will reck not of days that are coming, We will pine not for days that are past. We will throw laws and scruples behind us To the coward who questions and plods : Not a fiction shall hamper or bind us, As we walk, with the freedom of gods, On tne clouds of unending ambition, On the sunbeams of truth, and look down At the slaves of a dead superstition With a smile of contempt for their frown. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 35 We will heed no stage-property thunder, Nor the threat of a watch-dog's pursuit, As we range the world's orchard and plunder The goodliest trees of their fruit. Wealth, leisure, enlightenment, laughter Are the crown of the spirit that dares. For a season we reap them, — and after, If death calls for payment, — who cares ? Coralie Ah yes — who cares ? It may be, now and then, Some overlooked regret Shows how reluctantly the human hen Learns to forget Her fondness for the normal poultry-run, For barn-door gossip, where she need not shun The damnatory scowl Of any slander-loving, virtuous fowl, But lay and hatch, applauded on her nest By sympathetic cackling from the rest. Yet all such weakness dies When through the gloom I see your flaming eyes. The sweet night throbs Warm with endless life and love; Far below a ripple sobs Round the distant lake : above $6 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Soft amorous sound Murmurs through olive-leaves and cypress branches, While the white anguish of the moonbeam blanches The breathless world around. The silence grows too deep, the night too dumb — The load of universal passion seems To darken and benumb The soul it fires with such delirious dreams. My heart is all athirst for music. Come Out of the starlit dew To realms of lamplight ! — I will sing to you. [ They go into the house. Athelstan comes out from among the trees. Athelstan Strange that a hungry, lonely heart Can bear to laugh at the thankless part By the Fates apportioned, can even gain A drug for its unromantic pain In detached amusement, not exempt From the bitin? flavour of self-contempt, As you fill the role of the pantaloon In a harlequinade, wnere the grim buffoon Destiny, playing the genial clown With appropriate humour, knocks you down, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 37 When may we claim to be all sincere ? As I lurked in the moon-cast shadows here, Watching these happier two, the sense Of a step too near to the sacred fence. Guarding their privacy, seemed to bring A subtle sauce for the flavouring Of dead-sea apples I fain must eat. There was surely a touch of the bitter-sweet In the humour moving the Gods to impress My brain with a dual consciousness. For there were two of me that stood Just now in the garden-scented wood. One looked under the selfish boughs That usurped the outlook, like broken vows Trailing over the vista of hope, And cursed my abortive horoscope. Now does the jester who shaped my lot Come to the crowning point of his plot In the game of Peri-and-Paradise That he plays with this particular slice Of my soul. I wonder was there need For half-closed wounds to open and bleed, For slumbering passions to wake and tear My breast with the old, mad, vain despair. But the other half of me, all the while Watched with a mournful, scornful smile, 38 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Saw how the harp-strings, passion-frayed, Jangled and mangled the tune they played For the hundredth time — how romance required A hope more buoyant, a heart less tired, And brave illusion to soften and screen The palpable faults of the heroine. And the question beats on my aching brain If //lis be really the pure Love-pain That is said to purge like a cleansing fire, Or only the sting of a man's desire For flesh in a female mould, the cry Of a thwarted sexuality. For, apart from false and prurient shame, The battle of instinct dare not claim A tragic title. Oh, mocking Gods, Smite me with thunderbolts, not with rods ! Cor a I. ik is heard singing indoors. Coralie [s/;/g-s] In woodland paths and meadow-ways I heard the golden lute that rings A chiming tone when Summer plays On Love's own strings. I dashed the dripping leaves apart That sprayed and drenched my hair with dew A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 39 I waited with a burning heart, And looked for you. In woodland paths and meadow-ways I wandered on till Time was dead. And now, beneath my weary days, I droop my head On moss-grown roots, and try to sleep Where withered boughs their plumage strew And there, among the red leaves deep, At last are you. Athelstan The comedy grows in humour. That was the song Her rich voice flung with its passionate force to me In the memory-branding night, whose scars belong To last year's summer. And I, like a fool, would be In that web once more. Each proud, importunate note Wailed and wept through the shadowy, lamplit hush Of the long, low, oak-beamed room with its sense remote Of an ancient English life. I could see the flush On her face, and the curving bosom that swelled and gleamed 40 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS With the glitter of jewels — the parted lips, and the eyes Large and dark in the dusk, while I watched and dreamed Of Love's deep sea, and the wonderful land that lies In the mist beyond. And after the final chord Had died in the throbbing silence, she rose and came To my curtained window-nook, where the moon- beams poured Their flood on the carpet, and sheets of their ghostly flame Lay pale on the world outside, like a dreamland's dawn, And we passed out into the damp, sweet smell of the rain, So lately fallen that yet upon blossom and lawn The clear pearls glistened, and still the song in my brain Rang like a great bell pealing and deadening sense. And, as we walked through the whispering garden- bowers The air was heavily charged with the opulence Of odours won for the night from a thousand flowers. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 41 And, all in a moment, her mouth was mine, and her hair Was a silken touch on my cheek, and I felt the throb Of her heart on my breast, and the leaping blood's despair In my veins imprisoned clutched at my throat in a sob As we reeled and glowed in our madness. And though the sneer Of Fate's contemptuous laughter came too soon, To mock at the opiate balm of our atmosphere, To shatter the dream-world woven in gold by the moon, Not all the Now or the Never can steal away That hour of perfect illusion, — And yet ! — and yet ! — Though yon fair idol I knelt to was only clay, Though there is nought to remember and less to forget,— Oh, worthless winsome woman, who slew with a laugh The madcap passion that held us there in the night- While my reason joined in wording its epitaph, — I know that my spirit would starve on a love so light, 42 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Yet I reach my hands for you still, — my pride is dead My heart would barter its dreams for a single crust Rather than hunger and pine for the perfect bread That shall not be given, — but now there is only dust In my mouth and grey, cold ashes without one spark In my hands, and my eyes, though burning, shed no tears To cool their pain, and I am alone in the dark Calling, and clutching Love's shadow, — and no one hears. [He sinks on to the scat and hides his face in his hands. Hermione comes out from among the trees. Hermione Forgive me, friend, that I should dare to tread Into the sacred circle of your grief. There is a sleepless watchman in my heart Who hears the voice of sorrow ■ and, to-night My thoughts are scarcely faithful to my faith. For though I toil to enjoy the harmonies Of Life's orchestral whole, I cannot keep My languid brain from drooping, and so lose A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 4 3 The thread that riotous phrases dominate The unbalanced music. Though Eternity Ought to engulf in thunder the faint note Of finite sorrow, yet the human cry Strikes, as it should not, a discordant string That jars in my own breast. Athelstan I am ashamed Of unasked pity for my coward mood. Yet it may well be false, the shallow pride, The Stoic burden of secretiveness, That fears the scornful laughter of a world Where all is only laughable. Since you Bring down your cloud-capped thoughts to earth and turn, As woman, interrogative, kind eyes In question on my manhood's weakness, how Can I take shield of reticence ? You look On one of Fate's most mordant jests, — a man Tormented with the sexual love of love, — Half the warm-blooded craving that we clothe In prudish lies, and half the subtler pain Of starved imagination, truant hope, And mental loneliness, — a raw wound touched Suddenly into torture by the wand 44 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Of one who might not remedy the whole Of that vague yearning, yet has power to yield A draught of fiery wine transfiguring The brain so potently that, some brief space, It apes the true celestial nectar. Old And stale the comic misery of the hurt ! I am a man — and I have seen a woman, And all the slow-built wisdom of my life Abjectly crumbles. While I laugh to see My wound, I feel the wound my laughter makes. Laughs also your philosophy ? Hermione Poor heart ! I scarce can speak for tears. Oh Hope — kind Hope, Shine through the darkness of this misty world ! Importunate but fleeting pangs obscure The truth that should be visible. I have learned To count these ancient trials nought, to hold That the slow human caravan has crossed The desert, and, henceforth, the wild desires, The old romantic fallacies, the war Of strong rebellious passions, will not keep Their fierce preponderance in human life, But sink subdued into the rolling bars Whereon are built the peaceful, perfect chords. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 45 Yet your few words, my friend, have shaken deep The firmament of my conviction. I Know by the novel beating of my blood, The strangely sudden sense of aching want That the great cosmic calm has drugged, not killed The merely personal claimant. I proposed To adjust your passion's harp, to tune the strings. But I have lost the key-note. Help me, Heaven ! Athelstan Come from this cursed garden ! Let us leave The odorous, enervating flowers that bind Our senses in their swoon, the dewy depths, The hushed recesses of these forest glades, Whose dim, mysterious vagueness seems to cast Shadows of hesitation on our thoughts From out the menacing background. You and I Will not be taken captive in the hour Of Reason's treachery. What we do shall spring From calm deliberation, purpose firm, Not from emotion's unforeseen assault Surprising our defences. We will go Out to the clearer moonlight, and the calm Of open space beneath the sky, whereto Vigorous breath from mountains blown and scent Of clean, moist weeds and damp, encrusted rocks, 46 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Wholesomely filtered from the lake, caress The unagitated bosom of a hill Where health keeps endless vigil and dull sleep Holds nought but sick and morbid forces chained. This air is drugged and poisonously sweet I Let us have something purer! Come away ! [They go out together, while Coralie is again heard singing. Coralie [swtg's] All the banks are ablaze with poppies, Ears of wheat are yellow and brown, Sunlit, dew-wet gossamer copies The wafted dance of the thistledowr. Flowers their wealth to the bees are giving, Ripe fruit offers a feast to the birds, — We have a part in the pride of living ; What shall it yield us ? — Words ? Suns go down and summers are ended, — (Thus would a moralist drone away) Time's old fiddle is cracked and mended, Only one poor tune can he play. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 47 Work out the ore of the impulse vernal ! Bind the sheaf and plunder the bough ! Which would we look for, — the chance Eternal Or Love's own period — Now? SCENE IV Hampstead Heath on a Bank Holiday. A Crowd of Merry-makers on all sides. Michael stands on a knoll apart, regarding the scrnr. Michael I have no use for laughter. Yet a smile Were congruous as I meditate awhile On this uncultured scene of festival. Brainless amusement, vulgar pleasure, call Their votaries from crude and bestial toil To crude and bestial play. Discoloured soil, Befouled and trampled turf, the rusty green Of smoke-dried foliage, whose delicate sheen Has died before its birth, — a platform fit For the elaborate and sardonic skit On ancient pastoral delights. How strange Fortune's caprice that chartered me to range A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 49 This low world's puddles like a pirate soul 'Mid paper vessels in a washing-bowl ! I, the first pioneer of that proud race Time's womb is now maturing to replace This pigmy breed, must wearily confess To finding in their squalid ugliness A burden of repugnant scorn. I long For earthly comrades, beautiful and strong, Who would not shame my rightful rule. Yet these Fulfil their purpose. Are they not the keys Whereon I play, when Life, my instrument, Utters the tune I choose ? Their backs are bent For me to walk on. Their slow brains begin To pay me just acknowledgment. I win All that I played for — riches, power, esteem ; Statesmen demand my counsel ; artists dream Of my approval captured, which, they know, Confers their right to fame ; the golden flow Of commerce into channels dug by slaves, Whose undiscerning labour guides the waves Of wealth to purposes my wisdom planned, With truth they feel, yet may not understand, Makes fertile soil I sowed with hope ; life yields The first-fruits gathered from a thousand fields. D 5o A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Coralie comes in. CORALIE The fly to the treacle ! The moth to the candle ! The best of our pleasures are stolen from pain. I saw you — and clutched at the nettle again Since chance had provided a handle. My laughter leaves wounds. To a lover so shameless, Forgetful, neglectful, unworthy, untrue, Could I still care to offer a heart that is blameless, — Whate'er the past record, — of treason to you ? Surely the best of it Lies in the jest of it, — Thwarted your triumph ! — you win — but / laugh, And defeat the old platitude, Finding this attitude Sweetens the wormwood of Love as I quaff. Other far worthier suitors are wooing me ; Why should I spurn them ? You claim to protest At such payment in kind of the wrong you are doing me ! Delicate feeling ! — You heighten the jest. Oh ! to have wasted and squandered for ever The love of my life — the best years of my youth, To have trampled on hearts whose devotion had never Played treason to constancy, paltered with truth, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 51 Just to feed your brief fancy, — to wear for a day The crown and caprice of your favour imperious, — Accept the spare kisses you tossed in my way ! But, your pardon ! I would not be serious. Michael You show your sense. The laughing mood Ever became you. Your bright grace Scarcely would find congenial food In gloomy thought and a clouded face. The wise, moreover, grudge to spend Their force in rage whose shafts recoil. Be angry only for some sure end ! Others than virgins waste their oil. I swore to you no binding oaths, Nor vowed eternal faithfulness ; I, connoisseur of love, that clothes The heart as a garment, change the dress From time to time, — a toilet trick You could not justly blame. For me Old sanctions, worn-out conscience-prick, Are fireside tales. Relentlessly I follow my own appointed course, Taxing creation for my needs, A fateful, ruthless, cosmic force Beyond all codes, above all creeds. 52 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS If I grant you privilege to share In the flow of energy, why complain That your payment leaves me coin to spare For more power purchased? Should the rain Fall on no garden-bed but yours ? Are you aggrieved if the lavish sun Squanders on others the wealth he pours ? Would you have the mountain-torrents run Only to turn your mill-wheels ? No, Bid winds repent and fire reform ! Argue with earthquakes ! I shall go Through time on chainless wings of storm. Coralik I understand. Love was my servant through some lively years. But all my hopes and fears And happiness he seized with sudden hand, And crushed their juice Into the wine-cup guarded for your use, When you should chance to thirst. Now you are weary of the draught. And I, Who dreamed of bubbles, wake to see them burst. I shall not cry Over my broken toys. I may regret A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 53 That he, of all my lovers, who alone Has won the nobler side of me, should prove Least worthy of emotions he could move, And turn my new-born tenderness to stone. For me the old light ways henceforth ! And yet I do not blame you, dear. I loved you. That is over. And my pride Sheds, through my laughter, on the thing that died A last and only tear. [S/ie goes out. Michael Were I not one with Destiny My heart might almost conquer me, Regretful for the fading out Of this brief passion. Never doubt Nor weak compunction shall oppose My onward march. Yet my blood rose Rebellious when she made that last Assault with all her forces, — cast Fire from her proud yet pleading eyes, — Figured the mood of hurt surprise In her quaint, drooping mouth, half-sad And wholly humorous. Was I mad To break so sweet a plaything ? — No, Where she has gone must others go. 54 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Desire,— fulfilment, — then decay. Time's curtain falls. She had her day. A roving revolutionary ORATOR comes in. Orator Thou art the man ! — Hither I came With frozen bosom, soul aflame, To speak to these my brothers, — bring Remembrance of their suffering Into their drugged and deadened minds,- Bid them unloose the chain that binds Their lives to benefit some few- Rich tyrants, — and encounter you. Michael Proposing to rebuke the sin, You meet the sinner. Well— begin ! Orator Plunderer of the poor ! — not now I bid thee stoop thy haughty brow, Nor cease thy mocking smile. I wait For that long-wished-for hour of Fate A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 55 Which comes with slow, sure step. Ere long The weak shall trample on the strong, The humble dispossess the proud, The voice of vengeance cry aloud. You, if you deign to cast a thought On such as I, believe me bought With gold of cunning party-chiefs, Or crazy with imagined griefs, Or fostering ambitious hope, Or spurred by vanity to cope With problems I could never reach Nor understand. So be it. Each Measures another's truth and worth By his own human, breathing earth And flowers congenial therein born, — Love's rose — or poison-plant of scorn. But, be I what I may, the hour Draws on. The vengeful Furies lower. The portent stands revealed. I hear The distant trumpet sounding clear Its call to arms. From woeful den, Foul street, and reeking alley men, With scarcely human looks, will come Beneath no flag, behind no drum, The dark, mute legions of despair, 5 6 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS The hosts of retribution. Where Will you take shelter when the throng Whose groans have been your triumph-song Gather accusing round, to claim Full payment for their years of shame, — When each for restitution cries, The seamstress for her blinded eyes, — The maimed mechanic for the limb Your cog-wheels crushed, — the weary, dim, And faded clerk for his lost joy, — The mother for her reckless boy Doomed by your cruel laws, — the wife For love that coarsely brutal life Soon mars and murders, — the sick child For health unpoisoned, — the defiled And haggard harlot for the gold Of pure virginity she sold ? Yes, you may mock me. But, when Time Gathers the harvest of your crime And claims the tithe and first-fruit due, God's laughter may be mocking you ! [He goes out. Michael Though the fool wearied me, I found A worthy field for contemplation A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 57 In crude but vital talent bound By morbid taste for indignation, Which yields, no doubt, at humble cost, A counterfeit of drunken revels, But means, like these, exertion lost, Dyspepsia, headache, and blue devils. [A party of the Salvation Army passes by and halts at a little distance. The Leader turns back and addresses Michael. Salvationist May God be with you, Friend ! Forgive His sentinel. To all who live In His great world the challenge cries To halt and answer. Surely dies Each in his hour, nor is one spared Of small or great. Are you prepared ? Michael There is no convert here to win. The Hebrew Fetish, filtered thin Through brains hysteric and ecstatic With phrenzy from a London attic, Gives doubtful cause for homilies pragmatic. 58 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Salvationist Oh, suffer me to speak ! My voice is weak ; I am not learned, wise, nor eloquent. My limbs are bent By long, obscure, laborious days. Yet have I power to make acknowledgment Of God's good ways. His lightcame through the clouds that wrapped mypath, Where all before was sorrow, Till, on my night of sinful lust and wrath, The glorious " good-morrow " Rang through the music of an Angel's psalm, And my torn heart grew calm. Michael No token, truly, might express Such calm in more becoming manner Than all this pomp of martial dress And noisy band and flaunting banner. To every classic taste appeals Worship in form so corybantic. But, ere I dance your holy reels And spread the Faith with pious antic, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 59 I humbly ask to know the terms Your saltatory creed has given To those who combat sinful germs With patent remedies from Heaven. Salvationist Your eyes are not yet opened. It may seem A fool's indulgence of a sickly dream To follow Christ's commands and lose the whole Of this proud, pleasant world to gain your soul. But one day, when the distant bugle-call From Death's advancing trumpeter shall fall Faint through the hush of some voluptuous night To rouse you from the languor of delight, From wealth and warmth and revelry, the sound Will load with terror the dark world around, And you will run, like a repentant child, To shelter in the bosom, just yet mild, Of that great Father who doth now permit Your tongue to mock Him with its shallow wit. [He rejoins his companions and they pray together . Michael The gift of prophecy will soon Be counted cheap this afternoon ! 6o A MASQUE OF SHADOWS But I am tired. The hopeless sea Of stagnant, dull stupidity, Whereon my bark must sail alone, Laps in a mournful monotone Against the prow, and I have caught Some of its echoes in my thought. Part is but physical ; again That lately-known, mysterious pain Grips me with spectral hand. I wait Till Science ends her grave debate. To-morrow certifies my doom,— Some fleeting sickness — or the tomb. Well, — come the worst, victorious strife Is crowned. I have not wasted life. The air breathes prophecy to-day, As yonder woman threads her way Through the flushed crowd, her eyes reveal Fire of the nymph's prophetic zeal ^\'ho haunted, like the soul of Hope The chestnut-shaded, sunny slope Where my sight climbed to Alpine snow Once in Italy, — years ago. Her dreams were bubbles, but, at least, She learned them from no canting priest. Though tinged with something of the taint A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 61 That mars the sophist and the saint, Free and undaunted moves her mind Beyond the cage of womankind. Her mi one comes in. Hermione Again we meet. Time's wind has blown us far Since the blue summer by the Italian lake And one brief talk, that, like a branded scar Dwells in my memory with the things that make Landmarks of mental conquest. For the strife Of clashing thought and argument so fired My reason that all sane, coherent life Grew from that chance encounter when, inspired Each by the burning thirst for truth, we strove To choose the battle-flag of them that draw True weapons ; — you disdained my watchword, love Yielding your suffrage for a sterner law. Has time's experience justified the creed Of ruthless self-development, whose proud Embattled logic made my faint heart bleed That golden morning, while the hoods of cloud 62 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Melted from cone and crag before the flush Of dawn, — my fancied symbol of the truth Coming triumphant, that no fate can crush, — Pledge of the world's new birth, recovered youth ? Are you yet marching with no guide save Force, Scornful of all that softens and restrains, As weakness counting pity, love, remorse ? And has the world accepted you ? Who gains ? Mich I gain beyond all question. I have done That which I willed, have captured one by one Fortune's defended castles. And the world Gains also by the guardian flag unfurled, The brave new countersign demanded. Souls Cast off their ancient nightmare. Warm blood rolls Through veins encumbered with the frozen sloth Of superstition. Reasonable growth Governs the realm of thought. A nobler way Than where ascetic cowards crawl and pray Opens for men to tread. And how appears Your dreamland tested by the uncourtly years ? Follow you yet that ancient cloud and fire Through life's grim wilderness of parched desire, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 63 Hoping, as I, to lead your caravan Towards the unbounded destinies of Man ? Hermione I dare not answer in exuberant tone. I wander yet Shrouded in dusk of dawn, — the path unknown, The pale moon set, And no sun risen, although the Eastern sky Like a wan woman, when her love draws nigh, Faint gleams of gold and crimson hope has shown Through cloudy cares of jet. I do confess the sad abandonment Of my first expectation. I aspired To wake the world at once with clarion call ; But the poor world is doubtful, languid, tired. Few touch the perfect truth how one with all And all with one are blent. . So now, in humbler hope, I rake the floor Of life, and toil to rescue, here and there, Some of those broken flowers we call the Poor From dust-bins of despair, Believing that from fertile soil of deeds, Rather than barren sand of words, will grow Herbs that might heal the spirit-wound that bleeds, 64 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Now drugged with opiate " Yea " of futile creeds, Or cauterised with Doubt's benumbing " No." Michael I fear confession leaves you yet unshriven By Time, that most tyrannical inquisitor. A Prophetess, descended straight from Heaven, Finds poor employment as a district visitor. But grant me more acquaintance with the question! To-morrow brings some worthy folk to masticate Round my poor table. To promote digestion, The tonic sauce of your enthusiastic hate For all their shams and shibboleths would season The insipid dishes of their trite morality ; And their departure gives an hour of reason For you and me. Accept my hospitality ! Hermione Cast me for sport among your Philistines ? Like the blind Samson of the Hebrew tale, Their captive might give proof, when scorn inclines To laughter, that resentment's powers avail To tear down Folly's trusted pillars and crush Those that have mocked. Prepare them ; I will come. [Michael goes out. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 65 'Tis hard to chain the passions. I should blush For boastful, hot defiance, should be dumb Before the gibe of scoffers. But as when Ravening hounds pursue some stately deer Majestically striding through the glen With proud annoyance, undefiled of fear, Yet gaining force till hard exhaustion brings Clamorous insult that contests his sway Dishonourably near, and blood of kings Burns through his bosom, and he halts at bay — So wears my patience out. Oh, early dreams, How far and faint your gorgeous landscape lies ! How dim truth's ancient crystal window seems ! How hope grows cold ! How inspiration dies ! This scornful traveller through the unknown land Counts, looking back to our Italian day, More milestones passed than I. Fair craft I planned To launch from those blue mountains — where arc they ? And where the kindlier comrade, who could smile Yet sneer not, disbelieve but comprehend ? Whom that bright season made me hold awhile The more and less than lover called a friend. My heart turns traitor. I could almost ask For subtleties of " less and more " to melt And leave the friendship love. My failures task £ 66 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS My burdened resolution and unbelt My sword-encumbered loins. His irony Played on my climbing purpose with sad mirth, And told how sun- struck waxen joints would be That sealed my wings, till, drooping back to earth, I moved among the weaklings then disdained, Bent by their passions, sharing their desires, With dead wood of ambitions unattained Feeding the humbler hearth of mortal fires. The hour foretold is on me. Fruitless loom Whereon my spirit worked, to weave and waste Unprofitable moonshine, mystic gloom, Rest your perturbing shuttles ! I would taste The cup that women die for, comprehend Rapturous agonies of passion, kneel Before Love's inmost altar, shape and bend A man's half-dominant obedience, feel The conquest in surrender, and attain To where the veriest wanton is more blest, — Lose all my philosophic realm and gain The child — his child — warm on my fruitful breast [The group of Salvationists near begin to sing a hymn. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 67 Salvationists [S/;*^] Though wearied and encumbered With weight of sword and shield, Though wounded and outnumbered, Benighted on the field, Though your eyes are blurred and dim While you watch the faces grim, Never yield ! Hermione These humble zealots shame me. Violence, Contumely, scorn, assailing their harsh creed, Recoil before the rampart-guarded sense Of righteousness. Have I proclaimed the need Of something larger, more impersonal Than Dogma's crude solution of old fears Only, faint-hearted, to surrender all When my proud thoughts, like sullen mutineers, Clamour against the stern controlling hand, The embittering agonies, the toil, the scars, The soul's long exile from her mother-land, With home-thoughts mocked by unfamiliar stars ? [She turns and looks towards London. 68 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Oh, hoarse complaining chorus, that repeats The eternal captive-chant of Babylon From yonder brick-built Hell ! Your murmur beats A muffled requiem for my task undone, My warrior hopes brought low. I may not shift The burden from my shoulders while the moan Of human anguish calls me. Heart, uplift An echoing answer to their undertone ! [The Salvationists march away, singing as they go. Salvationists With martyrs' blood anointed, By martyred saints adored, Onward and upward pointed O'er lance and plume and sword, With the feet that never lag Goes the flaming battle-flag Of the Lord. SCENE V The drawing-room of Michael's Villa near Hamp- stead. A deep bay window lined with seats, opens on to a beautiful garden, with a wide prospect beyond. Michael comes in with a phial in his hand, and goes to the window. Michael Death ! I have conquered all others, have loosened the fetters that bind, Have torn the dark curtain that smothers effete aspirations of Man ; Have listened unmoved to the wailing of Thought in the whirlpool of Mind ; Have walked, when the stoutest were quailing, through mysteries barred by the Ban ; But my standard I bow to the stronger, I yield as the brave to the brave, 7 o A MASQUE OF SHADOWS I oppose to thy vigour no longer faint force of my labouring breath, I disdain to reproach thee for giving my beauty, my strength to the grave, For I won the full rapture of living at cost of thine envy, oh Death ! Did I flinch from the thought of to-morrow when medical pedants declared, With mouths of professional sorrow, and eyes for a future of fees, That hope — blessed word ! — might be given of life for some period spared, By the infinite bounty of Heaven, ere growth of corroding disease Has ended the torture and anguish decreed as my merciful doom ? No, Death, — ere vitality languish, I call thee to finish thy task. I shall march out defiant to meet thee, and, forcing the door of the tomb, Escape all thy torment and cheat thee, good Death, with a drop from my flask. [He turns to the window. Night lays a soft veil on the dark land mine eyes shall behold nevermore, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 71 Smug villa, respectable park-land, trim hedge-row and coppice and lane, Fit setting, domestic and hateful, for broods dull stupidity bore ; At least I do well to be grateful to the dusk that blots out their domain. I am robbed of my right to go under the waters of Lethe at last To the tune of reverberant thunder, by the blaze of the lightning flash, Alone to some precipice clinging in the teeth of the maniac blast, While avalanche-echoes are ringing my knell as they mutter and crash. But I break the delusion, I banish the puppets I governed in jest With a booth for a kingdom ; so, vanish, poor faded old drab of a world ! I am tired of your tinsel and spangles, of your eyes that have ogled their best, Of your paint and your paste and your bangles, and the wig you have coloured and curled. Our fleeting embraces are ended, and I pass fiom your bosom alone, To be caught by the current and blended with measureless waters that run 72 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS From the heart of primordial fountains diffusing the power unknown That abides where impassable mountains are crowned by an infinite sun. drinks off the contents of the phial and sinks on to the scat by the window. HERMIONE mes in. She docs not >e him. Hermione Comes there no holiday, however brief, For hearts not cold and dull ? Here wealth politely veils the grizzly skull Of want, and muffles the crude voice of grief. I panted for a lull In the discordant anthem that I hear Daily throughout the Stygian hemisphere Of hunger-haunted labour where I choose To set my workshop ; and I turned again To feel the warmth of joyous lives, and lose One earthly evening's heritage of pain. But sadder than the sound Of all the wailing discontent that rolls Through our grim nether-region have I found The silence of these cloyed, lethargic souls, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 73 Who live like human moles Complacent in their darkness underground. Oh, poor rich people, who have never known The half of human life, you sell too cheap Fate's precious gift, — the right to walk alone, To climp the steep Unconquered cliffs of knowledge, leave behind Hard vulgar barriers that enfold perforce The luckless multitude, — To weave your thoughts a web of gold, refined By play of graceful fancy, sweet discourse, And gain the pure, strong mind Whose light no film of wisdom can elude. Alas ! You abdicate Most wantonly your proud inheritance. Scarce do you send one momentary glance Beyond that open gate Whose bars have checked so many a brave advance By Captives worthier of your golden key, But barter all your treasured liberty For toys of intellectual childhood, games Played in a grown-up world of dolls and sums, Cheap class-certificates and schoolroom names, Rosettes and sugar-plums. 74 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS [She perceives Michael. As she is about to address him she starts forward, takes up his hand and looks into his face. Then she drops his hand and, perceiving the empty phial on the floor takes it up. She lets it fall again, and turns away sadly. Hermione I looked for this ; yet had not thought To see the final refuge sought Thus early. But the fiery soul Was fretting through its fleshly sheath ; No human courage might control The flame that gnawed beneath. His was no coward heart, no brain To slacken grasp beneath the strain Of thought and aspiration known To none but those who stand alone On life's untrodden mountain-peaks, Nor tremble when the thunder speaks. Life, as he viewed it, made no room For failing body, weakening mind. His creed gave one relentless doom To all whose footsteps lagged behind In the great onward march, and spared Himself no burden others shared. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 75 Child of the whirlwind ! Hast thou passed Beyond the stormy straits at last, And does the dawn unfold for thee The secret of the silent sea ? Oh, who can read the stars aright That taunt us with their lucid light, Serenely gazing through the night ? At least thou didst not flinch, nor fear The darkness, but, a mutineer Against all guidance, took thy course Where the wind blew with wildest force, And scorned to hug the land, or seek Safe anchorage in cove or creek. Rest thee, proud pirate ! I could shed More tears for thee — perverse — misled — Than for the whole inglorious throng Who ask no questions, do no wrong, Desire nor cross nor crown, but live The apostles of the Negative. He that does aught does well. The Love, Whose power thy pride resented, posts Her watchmen on the heights above The slowly-marching human hosts, And captures all whose wayward force Beguiles them from the appointed course, 76 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS And leads them, with a gentle skill, That blinds their knowledge, bows their will, To trample down the path she clears, And prove her noblest pioneers. [She sits down in the recess of the window, beside the body of Michael, cohere they are partly screened by the folds of the curtain. The voices of other Guests arc heard outside. A Great Lady comes in with her daughter. The Great Lady My dear, I warned you against wearing green. A more becoming hue to-night would mean End of all hesitation for our host. You are eclipsed. His fancies are engrossed With the strange woman who was giving out Peculiar views, — though what they were about I could not rightly comprehend ; I think She talked Theosophy, — or was it Drink ? — Or Woman's Suffrage ? — I could hardly tell ; At any rate she talked extremely well, While you, my dear, were almost ineffectual. I wish these times were not so intellectual ! A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 77 Daughter Brains have no influence when divorced from taste. Her gown had nothing you could call a waist. And did you mark the fashion of her hair ? Small is the danger that a man would care To marry such a person, — least of all A man who fain would let the curtain fall On past existence, and begin the life That needs a cheerful, tactful, graceful wife To use his fortune for the wisest ends, Gain him a circle of the smartest friends, Dress well, and look well, altogether be — Perhaps I should not say it, — just like me. [Other Guests come in and group together, without noticing HERMiONEanr/ Michael. An Ecclesiastical Dignitary addresses the Great Lady. Ecclesiastic Dear Lady, let me tell you what delight Our meeting has provided me to-night ! Mine was the privilege of crossing swords With your good husband, in the House of Lords, During last Session, and I like to feel 78 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS That something better than the clash of steel Henceforth unites us. We have laid the ghost Of conflict through the kindness of our host. Ah, what a man ! What courtesy ! What tact ! He shows benevolence in every act, And modestly conceals a noble heart. Yes, though he may not take a leading part In the great cause at present, I predict That now, when his laborious hands have picked From Fortune's branches the rewarding fruit, The Church will shortly gain a new recruit Such as Her work most needs. A Political Celebrity [Inln-posing. And the State too ! How much his eager brain will find to do In helping the one Party that alone Can save the country. But I thought the tore Adopted by the lady who appeared To claim his thoughts was rather to be feared. Such councillors may sometimes lead astray. She spoke of politicians in a way That really quite surprised me. Ecclesiastic And I thought Her conversation seemed to set at nought A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 79 Even graver matters. It is very sad To think a woman's guidance may be bad, That Faith's most subtle danger sometimes lies In what should be the smile of angels' eyes. I fear a traitress in our friend's dominions, — She seemed to hold some horrible opinions. Great Lady How you alarm me. These are dreadful days. I hope there's nothing wrong in other ways. One fears for morals where one sees no piety, And such queer people get into Society ! [Hermione comes forward and stands by the recess of the window, holding the curtain so that the body of Michael is not seen by the other Guests. Hermione I will not ask you, friends, to pardon me For hearing words that hinted my dispraise. Let us at least have truth ! Though all unknown, You stand in presence now of that which shames Falsehood however brazen. Silently Has the unseen hand opened your locked-up hearts So A MASQUE OF SHADOWS And freed the captive thoughts you vainly strive To cloak with tattered phrases. Me you named With hard suspicion for my influence On him yourselves desire to mould and shape For what ? — Forgive the woman you condemned If she, — believe me, with reluctant lips, — Return the condemnation. Ask your hearts What echoes this man woke in them. Did Love, The wide, unselfish sympathy that yearns To spend itself for some one, to enrich Another human soul, inspire your warmth ? He was a libertine, whose passion owned No woman sacred ; yet the scornful pride Of high-born, pampered women condescends To barter self-dominion, soul and flesh, For loveless, sumptuous supremacy, His unacknowledged harem's golden crown. He was a scoffer ; all your holy creeds, Your formulas of government, your codes Of social right and wrong he held as nought, Mere crude material for his bitter jests. Yet gladly would your Church receive his wealth, And take the dubious credit of his name, If he bestowed it in some cynic mood That liked the tickling paradox ; while those A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 81 Who find, or feign to find, in party plots Hope for a nation's law and liberty, Would coax from him contemptuous tolerance, Who laughed at party, liberty, and law, Who claimed no nation and revered no rule. Oh friends, you will esteem me hypocrite If I declare the truth, that not your words Of envious hate have hurt me, but the thoughts Of your starved, meagre vision that can find Life's value in such bubbles. He, at least, Broke from your binding tangles of pretence. His words bred actions. And his irony Gives your small dreams a final answer — thus ! [She draws back the curtain and shows Michael crouched on the seat, his face white in death, his jaw fallen, his eyes staving lifelessly. A confused movement takes place among the guests, with cries and broken exclamations. Finally they rush from the room, troubled and excited, leaving Hermione alone with the body of Michael. She sinks upon the seat beside it, and covers her face with her hands. SCENE VI The Thames Embankment in London at night. Athelstan alone. Athelstan May I never indulge in a cheaply mawkish mood? Really a sense of the humorous shows no tact ! Just as my lazy mind is beginning to brood, And my pedlar-stock of emotion is all unpacked, The demon of laughter flashes a lantern-ray On the threadbare sentiment trying to pass for new, And the voice of the heart's own mockery wakes to say, "Rather an ancient path that your thoughts pur- sue!" This is the mine where so many a bankrupt brain Quarries the pathos sure of its answering cheer From the countless gallery-gods of the world, who fain Would season their mental beef with a mustard tear. Jerry-built dramas, Brummagen verse and prose Enshrine all possible platitudes men could draw A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 83 From this well-known tap, — the river of peace that flows Through the moaning town, the neck-bent bridges that flaw The gleam of its face with their shadow, the golden bars Of gas-lamps glowing on care-worn trees till the sheen Of foliage, backed by the pallor of wasted stars, Makes for the dull grey pavement a garland of green. Footlights, scenery, supers are all complete, The homeless vagrant, the woman whose life is wrecked, Slink by the parapet, push for the crowded seat, Thrilling the house with their time-preserved effect. Stagnant and stale are life's waters. What is there worth One moment of aching passion, of burning thought? Our hearts are lifeless and tired and old from their birth ; We gather a mildewed harvest whose yield is nought. All the great books have been written, the great deeds done; Our songs and our laughter are echoes, our tears are ghosts ; 84 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Ever the circle of one monotonous sun ! Ever the human locusts in swarming hosts ! I have lived too late. No more is the altar afire The world is a tottering cynic with pulses cold, Making a laughterless jest of its young desire, While its claw-like fingers are clutching at bags of gold. It withers each natural growth with a senile sneer, Quenches with critical dogma the heart's hot flame : But I am a coward to-night ! Tis a shameful fear That fetters my sympathies thus with the fear of shame. Old or new, there is ever the pitiful cry Of human souls in the gutter, condemned to wait For light that the slow dawn grudges them. Who am I To look for a lordlier fortune, a nobler fate ? [He leans on the parapet and gazes at the river. Hermioxe passes on the pavement. Sud- denly she stops and turns to him with a cry of recognition. Hermione You ! Is it you ? Such years ! Such years ! My heart had almost lost The hope of this our meeting, — yet I knew My pathway through the desert would be crossed A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 85 Again by yours ; for we are charged to tell Tidings to one another, ere I go Where sounds no more your tinkling camel-bell. Is it not so ? Athelstan My sister of the wandering Arab race ! Ever thou comest when my weary heart Betrays the appointed trust, and doubts embrace Mine over-burdened limbs, and I, who hold That man should uncomplaining act his part, And leave his grim despondencies untold, Whimper like some lame hound behind the chase. Even now I viewed the lonely waste of sand, — Our barren wilderness, — Hating the bootless journey, half unmanned, Inclining to surrender, to confess Myself once more the thrall Of tyrant fears, abandoned once for all, — So I had hoped, — that shameful night when thou Did'st watch my weak despair, Where moonlight bathed the cypress-shadowed brow Of that Italian garden, whose sweet breath Hung warm and odorous on the swooning air, And led my poisoned manhood near to death. 86 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Hermione Oh, do not talk of shame ! Who leads the life exempt From every human claim, Such as your hard contempt Damns fiercely with reproof? He is not strong but cold, Who dwells serene, aloof, Whose heart has never told The tale of aching grief To one responsive friend, Nor sought the true relief A kindred soul can lend With thought and feeling, cast Harmonious in their tone, When the red furnace-blast For each twin bell was blown If such be shame, the brand Deepens on me. You laid To no great task your hand, Armed for no new crusade. But I the exalted vow That pledged me, over-bold, Abandon, from the plough A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 87 Yield my relaxing hold. I, whose presumptuous pride Urged me to move apart From others, act their guide, Cheer the world's fainting heart, My head now vainly try To lift, despondent, bowed, While traitorous voices cry In my weak soul aloud For all I hoped to scorn, — The passions that perplex, The doubt, the combat born Of heart, young blood, and sex, — To leave the pure cold height Where fleshly joy or mirth Died in the proud delight Of soul, — and sink to earth. [She bends over the parapet and hides her face. Athelstan Surely 'twere no reproach to dwell On earth, for us poor mortals ! 'Tis something to be out of hell, Though far celestial portals ! Fate's irony, for them that think, Your certain course is shaping, — 88 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS To rise in Hope's balloon, and sink With all the gas escaping. Thus my prophetic jest comes true, In sober sadness spoken, Foretelling what should fall to you, — When Time's rough hand had broken Your spiritual toys, — your plan, To shun the human highway, For you must walk the way you can, — Adam's and Eve's, — and my way. Her.mione I have no heart to smile, Though friendly be the laugh That, mocking, would beguile My weariness to quaft The inevitable cup. I own my womanhood, I take the burden up, Draw water, hew my wood, Bow my rebellious will, My quivering self-esteem, — But my thoughts wander still Back to my old mad dream. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 89 Ah ! if you understood The half-joy, drowned in pain, Here, when I feel my blood Tell how I surely gain Earth's greatest secret, bought With loss of that one touch Transcending earthly thought ! Is not the price too much ? Athelstan How shall the blind lead the blind ? What can I tell you ? — I hold This for myself, — that we bind Garlands of crimson and gold Out of the commonest flowers, And that the life we must lead In these flesh garments of ours Holds something better indeed Than cloisters of calm and content, Trod by the feverish hope That looks for a Deity pent In caverns of thought where we grope. We can know nothing. You flung Wreckage of Christian belief, 9 o A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Seaward, — dropped anchor, and sprung Swift on the new coral-reef, Buoyed by the sanguine delight Known to explorers, who stand, After long labour, in sight — So they believe — of the land Painted by prophets, who told Legends to hearten mankind, Tales of a gateway of gold, And a garden of jewels behind. Now the mist drapery melts, Shows, in the glare of the sun, Weeds too familiar, and belts Of palm, and rock-fingers that run Far out in mysterious blue Of calm water, — and, sinking your head, You acknowledge that nothing is new, And that none of the riddles are read. Futile to clamber in quest Of vague, metaphysical goals,— Moonshine of Heavenly rest, Saving of worlds or of souls. All future good we embrace, Making one moment sublime, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 9 1 Shatter the fiction of space With our thought, — the delusion of time. Though now you saw me despond, Though oft I fail and forget, Back comes the light from beyond Clouds where the sun seemed to set Till my belief becomes clear, Far as the shadows allow, This is Infinity — here ! This is Eternity — now ! Hope is a falsehood of youth, Fear is the chain of a slave, Sin — but to shrink from the truth, Virtue — to stand and be brave. Life flows as yon river flows, Hiding all purpose or plan, Bears us away where it goes, The servant, the master of man. Hermione Would I might bravely share Your calm, expectant view ! I know not — scarcely care What creeds are false or true. Only my heart requires Some guiding star, some scheme 92 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS To rule my stray desires, — Some hope, — some distant dream. Though my old purpose fails, The sense of work undone With night-mare strength prevails O'er the new wisdom won From life, — keeps conscience full Of morbid, worthless pain, Keener than cure could dull, Save one, — whose hope were vain. [S/ie turns despondently to the river. Athelstan draws nearer to her, and speaks in tones that tremble with emotion. Athelstan I read — though unspoken — your thought ; Your bruised aspirations, — the sting Of a hope torn, a dream come to nought, Can be drowned in that fire-flushed spring W r here waves of forgetfulness flow From the fountain of passion, and flood Lovers' veins till they tremble and glow With the beat of importunate blood. Why draw back, treading close to the brink With your mouth all athirst and aflame ? A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 93 Let us soothe our delirium and drink The fierce vintage of destiny, — claim Of Life's scanty largess our share ! You are lonely. The path you pursue Leads to darkness, negation, despair ! Turn aside ! Here is shelter for you. \He takes her hand and draws her towards him. She resists; then yielding, sinks on his breast. Athelstan Look up, Love ! — Your mouth ! — Oh my heart, How the blood sings and surges there ! — Yours Leaps and beats on my bosom ! We part From old falsehood, — for truth that endures. [She lifts her face to his. Their lips meet. They stand swaying in a passionate embrace. She draws back a little and looks smiling into his eyes. Hermione Do you so love me, then ? Ah, it is good to live Crushed in the strenuous pen Of your strong arms, — to give 94 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Will, conscience, reason, soul Into your keeping, Sweet ! To lay all power, control, And government at your feet. Kiss me once more ! I stand Free from a halting thought, Reckon my promised land Too dearly might be bought With loss of one warm kiss, Now that your heart has shown The response I feared to miss For the love I feared to own. [Athelstan nioves soniez^hat uneasily and looks into her face with faintly troubled eyes. She conti)iues in the same fervid tone. Mine ! — I may tell you, now, How the early seed was sown That day by the lake, — and how The plant has flowered and grown In my bosom. Ah, but I tried To break from it ; sought the stern Hard path where passion died. But I lost it, — could not learn To battle alone. And yet A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 95 I shrank from the treason-brand, Held on for the high work set By all pure Faith to my hand. But now do you justify My abandoned purpose. Nought Nobler than this can lie In the whole grey depth of thought, — Two spirits that meet and blend Through the fleshly symbol, — grip That which will only end With earthly citizenship. Darling, I shall not fear Reproachful eyes in the stars ; I listen, yet do not hear, Under the golden bars Of light on the river, a sound Remonstrant murmured, — the trees Are mute and approving, — drowned In the liquid laugh of the breeze Is the voice of my distress, Of compunction for paths above, For the virgin prophetess Who is lost in an earthly love. For better than all the pride Of a sexual negative 96 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS And a self renounced, denied, Is the love that I gain — and give. Athelstan \Speaking with some hesitation . I would be honest, — would not leave a chink Where-through might falsehood creep. 'Twere easier far To trust my fortune's star, — Risk Time's revenge, — suffer you yet to think Your boat safe moored beyond the tidal bar. Oh, my sweet friend, forgive me ! — You behold Your own pure spirit's light Turn my heart's pile of tarnished silver bright, And take the poor unworthy stuff for gold. I have not that to give You justly ask ; Few drops, evaporating, fugitive, Cling to the flask My thankless life has drained. You bring me all the hoard Of love your soul has gained Through virgin years, and stored; — But I am wounded, scarred, and battle-stained. My blood still glows Here, as I hold you, with the buried fire, The subterranean fervour of desire ; — A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 97 My spirit knows Its ever-aching hunger for repose By sympathy made sweet. Though losing all to say This truth, I would not cheat You of your star-paved way And drag you down to soiling tracks of clay, Unless you plant there, open-eyed, your feet. Hermione [Breaking away from him. Oh pardon — pity me ! I would not plague you with unworthy tears ! My coward eyes can scarce keep dry to see The foolish hope of years, When seemingly fulfilled, Lopped, without warning, by relentless shears, And killed. Nay, do not speak, dear love ! — I understand. At least you cannot lie ; And I would have you so, though all I planned And hoped be slain thereby. You do not love me, — save the name be given To that material surge of blood whose beat — Forgive me, — might have driven You to some sordid amour of the street. G 9 8 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS You want — not me, — But just a woman, — any woman. No, You shall not soothe my blistered vanity, Saying it is not so. It may be that I please your taste, afford Some touch of mental comradeship, but there Our spirit-union ends. I trap you with my limbs, my mouth, my hair, — As any Eastern concubine her lord, — With just this further link, — a shade more rare, — Responsive thought of friends. But the soul-marriage whose pure fire could make Atonement for my purpose unfulfilled, — A great thing yielded for a great thing's sake, — Owns here no altar. Yet I have not killed The love that drags me down. Oh, spare me ! — save My weak soul from itself ! Buy not the slave ! Leave me alone here with my misery ! A touch, and I am yours ! — dear, loved one, hold Your hot blood back ? Be merciful to me, Whom ragged dreams and tattered hopes enfold ! [Athelstan releases her. She shrinks away from him and staggers to the parapet. There she cowers into a dark comer under the shadow of the bridge that rears itself in the A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 99 darkness close by, and hides her face, her frame quivering and heaving with pas- sionate emotion. Athelstan turns away irresolutely and finds himself confronting Coralie who comes along the pavement with a listless step. Coralie You, dear old friend ! I hoped to gain Some brief forgetfulness of pain In listening to the whispered words The dark stream brings from far-off birds, And meadow-grasses bending down, And woods, where Autumn sprays her brown, And all the sweet old country sights Whose memory haunts my wakeful nights. Much more it comforts me to hear Your voice, where many a buried year Rings its lost echoes, to revive Dead days you almost make alive With your familiar face. Ah, me ! The woman moves who used to be. Athelstan Why talk so sadly ? Are not wealth, Liberty, all that life can give Your portion yet ? ioo A MASQUE OF SHADOWS CORALIE [Abruptly. Yes, all — save health. They grant me few more months to live. Athelstan [Moving impulsively towards her. Oh, my long lost one ! In my heart You have a chamber kept apart By some old constant, jealous hope, Deeming that we might chance to grope Through the dark labyrinth of lies Men nickname " life," and meet with eyes Seeing more clear than in old days. One added touch would serve to raise Our doubtful, hesitating love Into the passion throned above All earthly change. And now, at last, Clearing the jungle of the past, We blunder to the city gate Where refuge lies, and meet — too late. Coralie Are you not free ? A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 101 Athelstan Just now, on fire With burning pity, brief desire, I dared to offer one who sought Most perfect passion, lofty thought, My cheap small change of love. She swerved, — Her tender sweetness pliant, curved, — One moment in her course, — then went Back to own pure element. A listless liberty is mine In glacial wastes, where never shine The rays I dreamed of, when the glow Of coming sunbeams touched my snow. Coralie Then it is not too late, dear ! I Laughing have lived, — will laughing die. If, till my tameless voice be dumb, You choose to share my laughter, — come ! Athelstan You dear, brave woman ! — No more Will I question and analyse, Probing my heart to the core, Weighing the worth of its sighs 102 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS In the new self-torturing way That our morbid wisdom has taught. I go back to the old, good day When passion could conquer thought, And I say to you, " Take me ! Give What you can ! I will be content." I have come as a fugitive From the land of my banishment, To gather once more the flowers In the garden that I knew, While the sun of our life yet dowers The lawn with glittering dew. And under the foliage shady, Where her voice in the old days rung, I will find her again, — the lady I loved when the world was young. And though she be hurt and stricken In the intervening strife, Yet her pulses again will quicken As I nurse her back into life. Coralie It may be. Time shall show. I seem to droop Like a sick flower upon a broken stalk ; But you shall be my gardener, and stoop To tie me up with tender hands, and baulk, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 103 If it be possible, the foul worm Death, Who views my withering petals hungrily. Oh, I am faint for want of one pure breath That blows from brooding woodlands ! — Come with me ! [Athelstan looks back once towards the dark corner where Hermione is crouched. Then he goes out with Coralie. Hermione comes slowly into the light. Hermione Through the blurred agony of my distress, Over the tomb of still-born happiness, I reach my hands, open my lips to bless. I bless you, though my heart's rebellious cry Tells of the wound whose anguish will not die. I bless you — you, who scorned a kindly lie, Who would not barter for my gold your dross, Who left your winnings, though I paid my loss, — I bless you, here beneath my cruel cross. I am but woman, if the need prove hard Of owning her light triumph, who has marred Your power to love, and left your heart so scarred. 104 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS She conquers much, yet not the best of you. Spite of my failure that remains my due. We talked a language here she never knew. But I have done with passion. This hard stroke Comes to recall the nobler pledge I broke, To humble me beneath the appointed yoke. With lowly patience will I bend my pride, Yielding that ancient Church, so long defied, Another penitent to reprove and guide. I may not stand alone. I hear the bell Kinging my old delusion's funeral knell. The great Love calls. Sweet, earthly Love, — fare- well ! SCENE VII An old-fashioned English garden. On a smooth lawn under the shade of a beech-tree with drooping branches Coralie lies in a low garden chair. Athelstan is seated beside her. It is a beautiful day in mid- autumn. Coralie It was foolish of the swallows To take flight so soon, For the Indian summer follows The dead harvest moon ; And however rich and sunny Be the boasted South, Yet sweeter than pure honey In my burning mouth Is the taste of breezes wafted From an English wood, With the Autumn brown engrafted On its gay green hood, 106 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS With the bracken turning yellow, And the wet, red leaves, And, beyond, the orchards mellow, And the last wheat-sheaves. Though I would not prove a coward, To lament and moan If the roses are deflowered And their petals strown, Yet across the ruined garden Of my life I feel Cold, frosty fingers harden To a grasp of steel, And I scarcely check the treason Of protesting pain, As they rob me of the season That is here again. Oh, just once more, to wander Where the crab-tree grows, Where spendthrift hedges squander Ruddy haws, ripe sloes, While the drifting vapour settles Over rusty ranks Of gaunt and withered nettles, Grimly guarding banks, A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 107 Where brambles, flushing hotly On the herbage sere Weave a counterpane of motley For the drowsy year. Flooding fast, remembrance brings me Sight and sound and scent, And a ghostlike circle rings me With weird merriment. I can hear the pheasants calling On the dusk-veiled hill, And the pat of acorns falling Where the woods are still. I am after striding horses And I feel the reins Drawing tight, and blood that courses Through my fervent veins, As I follow, follow, follow, Where the hounds stream on, Till their cry grows faint and hollow, And the hunt is gone. But again my feet are moving On a moonlit pool, Where the ice my skates are grooving Has no power to cool io8 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Eager blood, whose joyful riot Seems to fire the white Of the rime, inflame the quiet Of the frozen night. Then the long mysterious slumber Of a snow-bound world, When winding-sheets encumber The dim landscape, furled On the blurred and shapeless branches, While life, for me, Is a boat that pleasure launches On a youthful sea Of music, feast, and laughter, Of charade and ball. But this is the day after, And a funeral pall Blots out the radiant colour As the lights wane low, And the company will be duller Where I soon must go. Athelstan Oh my wounded wild bird ! — What is worth the saying ? Could my life-blood help you it were quickly shed. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS ioy Words are coin dishonoured, barely fit for paying ; Speaks my heart in silence by your insight read. Language can proclaim my selfish sorrows only, — Mute for something nobler that perchance I give,— Paint the barren land where I shall wander lonely, Envy your enfranchisement, while I must live. Even across the ache and agony of parting Gleams the cruel flash of Fortune's taunting smile ; Bitter, envious anger in my thought is starting ; — Was fulfilment grudged me for so short a while ? After all I win not, never shall have won you ; Round your buried lover will your last thoughts turn ; Spite of wounds inflicted, of shame and outrage done you, He, who mocked you, counted you a thing to spurn, Held your soul and flesh, your light and darkness, living, Owned your every feeling and your every breath, Trampled on you, flouted you past all forgiving, — Weaves the same enchantment for your soul in death. no A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Think not I reproach you, call for your compassion; Fate shall never triumph in my moan again. Punishment she deals I take in jesting fashion, Mock the spiteful harridan with cool disdain. Only would I ask your sympathy to soften Something of your laughter at the Pantaloon Fooled by dainty Columbine a trifle often, Tripped by merry Harlequin a shade too soon, Rather bruised and sore with pantomimic revel. Though the winner's stakes were paid before I came, Give the paltry halfpence left to one poor devil, Who loves you very dearly, — and has lost the game ! [He kneels beside her and takes her hands. She smiles at him, rather sad/): CORALIE Loser you are, and I, and every one. The People, there above, Expect us to provide unconscious fun, Playing this game of love. With bandaged eyes we grope the school-room round, While they our antics scan ; No woman the component him has found, Her that sums all no man. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS in Oh kind, dear friend ! — I would so gladly make Your hungry heart content, Had I the power, — would bid my heart forsake Its old entanglement. But helpless must I earn, with open eyes, My own unpitying scorn, Despising love, and, loving, yet despise The face by falsehood worn. While you, who seek Love's shady desert-well To ease your burning blood, Scarcely can find one shallow pool to tell It was not always mud. So must I hold a hateful memory dear, Bow at one shameful shrine, Leave you to tread a stony path austere, Who thirst for passion's wine, And have to be content with friendship, — smoothe My pillow, mix my draught, My life's expiring night-light nurse and soothe; — No wonder some one laughed ! Athelstan Let us defy the laughter, spoil the jest, Unhorse the threatening rider ! Let us tear Your life from cloud-veiled sunset in the West Back to the Orient sky, for new dawn there ! i(2 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS Ah, but my soul requires you. Hear me ! stay ! My throw once won save for Fate's loaded die. Perchance the last thin film would melt that lay Between us. It may prove a nightmare lie, This fruitless thirst for your old poison-bowl. I have loved other women, yet they seem No more than ciphers on a once read scroll, Or bubbles on a half-remembered stream. So let the past be sepulchred. Forget Your island of enchantment ! Oh, sweet dove, Fold your dear wings, nor leave me lonely yet ! Give me your life awhile ! Give me your love ! Coralie Ah, to live and to love once more ! To know the loss that outvalues gain ! But the husks lie thick on the threshing floor, Where Time's long winnowing leaves no grain. Only for you does my bankrupt heart Hoard what her granaries yet may hold, Ever regretting that larger part Another so wantonly stole and sold. You are the truest, the best of all Who have flung their fancy to waste on me ; — Oh friend, the squandered past to recall ! Your guerdon to give ! — but it may not be. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 113 Yet, shipwrecked thus on a mournful " no," We will face it gaily ; — both have missed The haven we steered for ; I shall go To my grave with some poor ghost unkissed In my heart. But neither you nor I Have been utterly cheated. Let us dream Of days whose heritage will not die, Perchance, when we are across the stream. For we gave each other, if not the whole, At least much love with no worldly stain, A star-beam beckoning soul to soul ; — If it were all, have we lived in vain ? Perhaps, when I am under the grass, As the year draws on to harvest-time, And the days with burning blue eyes pass, Like poets weaving a drowsy rhyme Of battles fought and of love to come, Some hushed, hot evening, thunder-crowned, When the whole world waits for lightning, dumb, Overloaded with silent sound, — Just such an hour as wrought the spell For you and me once, — when you shall hear The first faint sigh of the night-wind swell From the woods, your spirit will feel me near. H ii 4 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS For I, who was, will be woven deep In the good warm world I loved alive; My flesh will slumber in flowers asleep, bees my blood for honey will hive ; T shall come with the hayfield's fragrant breath, Or chime of a mill-stream's headlong mirth, With the smell of rich damp leaves in death, Of dewy herbage and plough-torn earth. Then will your memory lose the sting, And love, once broken and incomplete, Will glide through the dusk with new-plumed wing, And lay my laughing soul at your feet. But now will I fiddle a wilful note ; My heart is tired of seriousness. 1 ) ked for a carnival goes my boat ; — I want some chocolates ; — ah, one kiss. [S/ic starts up and stretches out her arms to hit;:. But even as he moves to meet her, her head drops, her eyes close, and she sinks beck dead. SCENE VIII A secluded spot on the Surrey Hills. Athelstan alone. He holds a letter in his hand. Athelstan She writes from Rome ; harbour of refuge sought By many a tempest-broken soul, who fears Voyage adventured o'er wild waves of thought, And asks, beyond their drifted foam of tears, To tend some close-walled garden and obey Rulers appointed as God's overseers. Does the dim chancel twilight shroud her day ? Perhaps for one so gentle, sensitive, With steerage lost, it were the happier way. Sorrowful stroke of chance that I should give To that great heart its death-wound, — I, who fain Would weave her dreams a bower wherein to live, n6 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS The dumb reproach of those deep eyes, the pain Wringing her mouth, the tearless agony, Are haunting furies. Yet remorse were vain. I shirk no censure, make no coward's plea. I spoke no word of falsehood. For the rest, I know not. Let perfection answer me ! Though my dead garden-lady took my best, I loved this living woman, and her call Found answering echoes in my home-sick breast. Is it so great a virtue, after all, This well-praised power of loving one alone ? Does love lose value save the stock be small ? At least I paid my forfeit. Have I known The perfect satisfaction and delight ? Shall not my heart's Siberian march atone ? Voice, prove not bitter ! What she dared to write Scarce dare I read. Whither will judgment tend ? Reproach or pardon ? — to assuage or smite ? f He reads the letter. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 117 " With words of earthly passion, oh my Friend, No longer may my trembling lips allure, Yet love's triumphant anthem shall not end. " Stripped of all fleshly taint, serene and pure, The spirit-bond I blindly wept as dead Links us in union while our lives endure. " No more a wandering rebel shall I tread Where the grim whirlwind walks. I have turned back From paths with woven lightnings carpetedj " Humbly to bear a private soldier's pack Amid the legions I once thought to guide, Following their march along the dusty track. " For since my old proud confidence had died In passion's weakness, where could help be found, Save in one Sanctuary ne'er denied ? " Thither, a lowly suppliant, am I bound To ask a refuge from the world and wait A willing prisoner till the bugle sound n8 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS " Surrendering my reason, at the gate, Into the hands of them that promise peace, — Priceless exchange for what I abdicate. ■ But though all mortal conversation cease, My spirit, gliding on the wings of prayer, Will ask for love's sake, and obtain, release, •• And fly to your abiding-place, and share Your thoughts, your hopes, your labour, your delight, Forgetful though you be, and unaware. " No longer do I fear this earthly night, For shining far across Death's sullen sea, Lit by God's dawn, that island meets my sight " Where shipwrecked spirits come to land, where he Here lost, yet loved so dearly, may be cast By God to her men called Hermione." [He folds the letter. Ah me ! The world grows lonely. I am last Of that small group whose lives Fate intertwined By the blue lake one summer day long past ; A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 119 And each has given the other wounds to bind, And all have failed to gain their fancied goal. Hope was hope's fetter, love to love unkind, Soul's aspiration checked aspiring soul, And whose the blame apportioned none can tell, Nor why life's language is all hyperbole. Beyond we come to Heaven perhaps, — or Hell, Or just to nothing. Ah, dear woman, keep The calm of echoing cloister, droning bell ! Yours is no boat for storms and waters deep. Glide gently down your inland river now, Which leads, at worst, to long lagoons of sleep. I cannot pledge me to your creed, nor bow Before your altar. Yet you strike my shield With faith that challenges an answering vow. And though my hopes have wandered far afield, And resolution warps and virtues rust, And cynic desperation makes me yield Body and soul lethargic to their lust, I draw my breath, and set my shoulders square, And shake off low despondencies like dust. 120 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS In my soul's depth of silence shapes the prayer, Whereto perchance none listens ; may I dread No foe save fear, no tyrant save despair. May I, unboastful, proudly lift my head To face life's changing look. May I despise The tawdry flare of this woeld's gas-light, shed On pasteboard pomp, and gilt, and tinsel lies. Yet may I shun the subtler self-deceit, That misnames art, and would idealise The emotions of the morally effete, Sickly, erotic dreamings, sensual woes, Imagination's walkers of the street. v c^' But may I earn a humble place with those Who rule strong passions with a stronger will, Whose hearts have secrets that they ne'er disclose, Who help some stumbling brother up the hill, Swerve for no earthly blandishment or ban, — But wherefore thunder in heroics still ? One phrase comprises all, — to play the man ; To follow old romantic dreams, and keep Some love, some laughter, till the caravan A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 121 Halts by the roadside, while long shadows creep Over the darkening world, and this our sun Of life is drowned in purple mist of sleep. \He looks towards the West, where the sun is near the horizon.] My thought wakes echoes ! Here has sleep begun. Soon, like a candle, will the western star, Shining alone, proclaim the day is done. Hovering vapours blur the chalky scar On yonder slope, and hooded yew-trees crown The broad green ridge to where the beech-woods are. Softened in twilight spread, beyond the down, Broad park and cottage-garden, woodland home, And heath-side village, and far twinkling town. I am a wandering spirit, who must roam, Plaything of breeze and wave, till ail tides end ; But mine eyes, weary with the smarting foam, Look out, as to some gentle long-lost friend, On this fair English landscape, where restraint, Order, and peace, and wealth, and comfort blend. 1 / i22 A MASQUE OF SHADOWS .My once rebellious voice is waxing faint That cried against the cruel ravishing Of Nature's maidenhood, the human taint Soiling her gipsy blood. The marriage ring Has brought her strange subjection, and we get A peaceful matron for the once wild thing. But I have learned to look with no regret On faces grave with thought, where sensuous lines Fading make room for higher beauties yet. How small the part that circumstance confines And moulds ! The unchanging elements remain. Alike on wilderness and city shines The sun, riots the breeze, and throbs the rain. Each heart, whate'er its fortune, cannot miss The prize of joy, the privilege of pain. To feel, to think, to strive, to suffer, — this Has been my priceless portion. It is worth All life to strike one blow, to gain one kiss. A MASQUE OF SHADOWS 123 Therefore, old captive but unconquered earth, Who share your children's doom, my grateful heart Thanks you, my Mother, for the gift of birth. We, for a time distinct, never apart, Shall soon again be blended. But, meanwhile, I ply my business in the mortal mart, Purchasing here and there a hope, a smile, A little love, for love I gladly pay, And brief, bright hours from sorrow thus beguile, Not over serious in the game I play. For neither you nor I are what we seem, But symbols of a mystery, — and some day, Perhaps, the soul inspiring us will gleam Through all material texture, and the One Will know the meaning of the Myriads' dream. To what wide ocean do the rivers run ? [He goes out. Primed by Ballantv > , Hansom & Co. London & Edfhburgh UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA U>8 ANGELES S -l^-; 553 R-asq PR 3m SKH REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 373 273