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'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
Of them protection: I am their Grotesque;
I will be strong and bold.
Capulchard. [Placing the convention of fire on the altar.]
Not strength from you,
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 . . . Soon shall she
Recoil in terror. Would you have her speak?
[To the Woman.]
I'll give you utterance of what you are.
Woman. 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?
Capulchard. [Without irony.] Puppet Queen.
Man. [Proudly..] Ay; and the gods have me their Out-
law 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

them—they— Woman. Alas, that I am royal! Man. [Harshly.] Stay!

[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.]
Such was I once: I will not wake her.
[Exit the Woman, right. She falls inert.]
Capulchard. [Relaxing.] However, now they are no
In Ore extant.
Dismiss them out of memory: behold,
Amid the night-sounds of the forest, enter
The Girl-motive.
Girl. [Expressing fear.] Only the cold white trees
And the silver moon, and rippling thin at my feet,
The slender glint of the zigzag brook,
Clear waters fleet.
I, alone in the darkness, lost. Who
Is that, tall—? Ah–

Capulchard. I’ll hedge her with a storm'
Uprise the rushing sound of wind.
The Owl. To-whoo!

Girl. An owl-cry!
Capulchard. Blunder storm-phantoms blind.
The Owl. To-whoo!
Girl. They scream!
Capulchard. 'Tis the rattle of branches.

Girl. Save me!

Grotesques

Capulchard. Seek Shelter.

[He places a cloud-pattern across the moon.]

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. Oh,
Take down the storm'
Capulchard. 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!
Capulchard. Of whom?

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[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 cross-
ing, frightened, in rhythmic contrast.]
I had these words to speak—are you afraid 2–
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. So

Crone. Capulchard?

[Exit the Crone, right. She falls inert.]

Girl. [Designed as if frightened, but a little curious.] What would she teach 2

Capulchard. White cheeks to flame and burn Till all their fire is dead.

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.

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