'Tis holy ground: an altar I will raise! [He shapes the stones into a rude altar. Capulchard smiles, holding the design in rhythm.] I will give thanks unto our gods and plead Capulchard. [Placing the convention of fire on the altar.] But cowardice, an Outlaw, they require. Man. [With proud fear.] Hid in this forest at their will I lurk. Capulchard. The courage of the willing sacrifice; The mannikin in uniform, his pride. [He goes right and, lifting the Woman, places upon her shoulders the white mantle of a Queen.] At the scene's edge, a crown upon her brow, She stands . . . Contrasted motives I'll give you utterance, of what you are. Woman. Soon shall she A Woman-in her eyes the sign of grief; A Queen, who walks in solitude, gravely. Within her heart who knows what sorrows mourn? Who knows what sorrows still? She comes. [She sees the Man and starts back, in a conventionalized movement, suggesting dread with her body. They look at one another. A silence. A change comes over the Woman. She closes her eyes.] Grotesques I feel a strange unfolding as from sleep. Look at me, longer. Man. You are beautiful. Woman. Why do you cower from me? Puppet Queen. Man. [Proudly.] Ay; and the gods have me their Outlaw made. Woman. [Re-acting to the decoration.] The dread of capture held his eyes to mine. Man. I love. Woman. That dagger bright wakes— Capulchard. [Dexterously.] Fear. Perhaps, Conscious a bit, they might have further tang; There's naught more pliant than a little fire. Man. [Helplessly.] 'Twas the gods' will-we've pleased [Capulchard makes a gesture that separates them.] Woman. [With a gesture of great tenderness, gliding back repulses the Man.] [The Man looks at Capulchard.] Capulchard. Turn not aside to ask the obvious. Are you not Outlaw? Man. [Trying to explain.] Ay, the gods-the gods[Capulchard does not answer, but places the Girl at the edge of the decoration, right. With a gesture he causes the Man, in conventionalized movement, to creep back into the forest, left.] Capulchard. There was a theme, had it been wise to risk, That for her he had slain the King; and she But no. Woman. [Who has started to speak to the Girl.] [Exit the Woman, right. She falls inert.] Capulchard. [Relaxing.] However, now they are no more extant. Dismiss them out of memory: behold, Amid the night-sounds of the forest, enter Girl. [Expressing fear.] Only the cold white trees The slender glint of the zigzag brook, Girl. They scream! Capulchard. 'Tis the rattle of branches. To-whoo! Girl. Save me! Capulchard. Shelter. [He places a cloud-pattern across the moon.] Grotesques Seek Veil of the moonlight. Quick: ere the flashing streak, White fire, shall speed ignition to the clouds and form A fusion with their black genetic strength! [He abruptly unrolls a sharp white streak of lightning against the sky. With éclat.] The storm! [The Girl, with highly elaborated gestures expressing fear, sinks down. Capulchard takes the fire from the altar. Silence, to imply the presence of the storm.] Loud roars, through the thick-pouring rain, thunder. [At each imagined sound of thunder, she trembles.] Fears throng her heart, terror to her supplied By your fecund imagination. Girl. Take down the storm! Capulchard. Oh, Therein she doth abide As in a fortress. Let the storm be past. [He takes the clouds and lightning down.] From shelter creep, symbols of forest things. Girl. I now exclaim: Lead me hence, someone! help me! I am lost. Capulchard. Footsteps, then. Girl. Hark! Of whom? [Capulchard lifts the Crone, placing her at the left edge of the decoration.] I'll honor you with their attention. [As she hesitates through weariness.] Forth. Crone. I heard two voices, one of them a maid, If she be young enough. Where are you, dear? [Silence. She wanders toward the right, the Girl crossing, frightened, in rhythmic contrast.] I had these words to speak-are you afraid? About warm love: old age comes soon [A pause.] I dare not leave the stream-side. She will learn. Teach her, whoever it be. Capulchard. Crone. So Capulchard? [Exit the Crone, right. She falls inert.] Girl. [Designed as if frightened, but a little curious.] What would she teach? Capulchard. Till all their fire is dead. White cheeks to flame and burn Girl. [Repeating.] To flame and burn. [Capulchard shrugs his shoulders; then, striding left, he takes a handful of water-drops from the brook and flings them into the sky beside the moon. They become seven conventionalized white stars.] Capulchard. A curtain cannot be: the play goes on; Scene follows scene, must follow without pause. |