There’s many a true word said in jest. But you!
Why, all the world might fall down at your feet
And you not find a man in all the world
Worth reaching out your hand to raise. And I!
The best luck never finds the best man out,
They say; but no man living could deserve
This.
MABEL.
Well, you always were the best to me;
The brightest, bravest, kindest boy you were
That ever let a girl misuse him — make
His loving sense of honour, courage, faith,
Devotion, rods to whip him — literally,
You know — and never by one word or look
Protested. You were born a hero, sir.
Deny it, and tell a louder lie than when
You used to take my faults upon you. How
I loved you then, and always! Now, at last,
You see, you make me tell it: which is not
As kind as might be, or as then you were.
REGINALD.
I never was or could be fit for you
To glance on or to tread on. You, whose face
Was always all the light of all the world
To me — the sun of suns, the flower of flowers,
The wonder of all wonders — and your smile
The light that lit the dawn up, and your voice
A charm that might have thrilled and stilled the sea —
You, to put out that heavenly hand of yours
And lift up me to heaven, above all stars
But those God gave you for your eyes on earth
That all might know his angel!
MABEL.
There — be still.
Enter
Frank
(at a distance).
Here comes our bridesman — and our matchmaker.
He told me that he loved me yesterday,
But that you loved me better — more than he,
And, Redgie, that you would not tell me so
Till I had made an offer for your hand.
A prophet, was he not?
REGINALD.
Did he say that?
I’d like to black his boots.
MABEL.
You weren’t his fag,
Were you? — Well, Frank, you told me yesterday
Nothing but truth: and this has come of it.
FRANK.
Your hand in Redgie’s? All goes right, then?
MABEL.
All.
I did not give him, I confess, a chance.
REGINALD.
Frank, I can’t look you in the face — and yet
I hope and think I have not played you false.
FRANK.
Well, if you swore you had, Redgie my boy,
I’d not believe you. You play false, indeed!
To look me in the face and tell me that
Would need more brass than nature gave your brows.
REGINALD.
But how to look your father in the face —
Upon my honour! You must help me, Frank.
FRANK.
And that I will, Redgie. But don’t you dream
He’ll think there’s any need of any help,
Excuse, or pretext for you. Any fool
Must have foreseen it.
MABEL.
Yes — I think he must.
Any but one, at least — who would not see.
Frank, I proposed to him — I did. He is
So scandalously stupid!
FRANK.
Ah, you know,
I told you. That was unavoidable.
REGINALD.
You sons and daughters of good luck and wealth
Make no allowance — cannot, I suppose —
For such poor devils as poor relations. Frank,
I think I see you — in my place, I mean —
Making the least love in the world to her —
Letting her dream you loved her!
FRANK.
Well, did you?
MABEL.
He did.
REGINALD.
I don’t know how I did.
MABEL.
But I
Know.
FRANK.
I can guess. He never dropped a word
Nor looked a look to say it — and so you knew.
MABEL.
Yes; that was it.
FRANK.
When I go courting, then,
I’ll take a leaf out of old Redgie’s book,
And never risk a whisper — never be
Decently civil. Well, it’s good to see
How happy you two are.
MABEL.
Hush! Here comes Anne.
Enter
Anne.
ANNE.
I heard what Frank said. And I hope you are
Happy, and always will be.
REGINALD.
Thanks. And yet
I know I ought not.
ANNE.
Complimentary, that,
To Mabel.
REGINALD.
Mabel understands.
ANNE.
Of course.
She always understood you.
REGINALD.
Did she? No:
She always made too much of me — and now
Much more too much than ever. God knows why.
ANNE.
God knows what happiness I wish you both.
REGINALD.
Thank her, Mabel.
MABEL.
I can’t. She frightens me.
Anne!
ANNE.
Am I grown frightful to all of you?
Are you afraid of me, Reginald?
REGINALD.
What
Can ail you, Mabel? What can frighten you?
ANNE.
Excitement — passionate happiness — I see.
Enough to make a girl — before men’s eyes —
Shrink almost from her sister.
MABEL.
Anne, you knew
This was to be — if Redgie pleased.
ANNE.
I did;
And did not doubt it would be.
FRANK.
These are strange
Congratulations. Anne, you must have thought
It would not.
ANNE.
What I thought or did not think
I know perhaps as well as you. And now
I need not surely twice congratulate
My sister and my brother — soon to be.
MABEL.
Let us go in.
ANNE.
You seem so happy too
That we must all congratulate you, Frank.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
Scene I. — In the Garden.
Anne and Mabel.
ANNE.
This heartsease bed is richer than it was
Last year — and so it should be; should it not?
For your sake and for his, I mean. See here;
Here’s one all black — a burning cloud of black,
With golden sunrise at its heart; and here’s
One all pure gold from shapely leaf to leaf,
And just its core or centre black as night.
MABEL.
They call them pansies too, you know.
ANNE.
But you
Must call them heartsease now. Tell me — what thoughts
Have lovers that the lovely plain old name
Would not suit better than all others?
MABEL.
None,
None that I know of — nor does Redgie. Anne,
How can we two thank God enough?
ANNE.
I’m sure
I cannot tell you, Mabel. All your thoughts
Are flowers, you say, and flowers as sweet as these
Whose perfume makes the rose’s coarse and dull;
/>
And how then could I tell you how to thank
God? He has given you something — thought or truth,
If truth and thought are not the same — which I
Cannot, you know, imagine.
MABEL.
Ah, you will
Some day, and soon — you must and will.
ANNE.
I doubt
That. Can the world supply me, do you think,
With such another Redgie?
MABEL.
That’s not fair.
ANNE.
I must put up with something secondrate?
Frank, for example — if he’d have me? No,
Dear Mabel: be content with happiness;
And do not dream it gives you power to play
Providence, or a prophet. Is he not
Waiting for you — there, by the hawthorns — there —
And, certainly, not wanting me?
MABEL.
He is!
I told him not to come and wait for me.
[Exit.
ANNE.
I cannot bear it: and I cannot die.
Enter
Sir Arthur.
SIR ARTHUR.
Our lovers are not here? Ah, no; they want
Seclusion — shade and space between the trees
To chirp and twitter. Well, no wonder.
ANNE.
No.
SIR ARTHUR.
The handsomest and happiest pair they are
That England or Northumberland could show,
Are they not?
ANNE.
Yes; Mabel is beautiful.
SIR ARTHUR.
You don’t think much of Redgie, then?
ANNE.
He looks,
With all that light soft shining curly hair,
Too boyish for his years and trade: but men
Don’t live or die by their good looks or bad.
SIR ARTHUR.
You don’t call soldiership a trade? And then,
His years are not so many — not half mine,
And I’m not quite a greybeard.
ANNE.
Let him be
Apollo — Apollino if you like,
Your all but girl-faced godling in the hall.
He did not win her with his face or curls.
SIR ARTHUR.
I am proud to know he did not. Are not you?
ANNE.
Proud of him? Why should I be?
SIR ARTHUR.
No; of her.
ANNE.
O! Yes, of course — very. Not every girl,
Of course, would condescend — to look so high.
SIR ARTHUR.
A fine young loyal fellow, kind and brave,
Wants no more gilding, does he?
ANNE.
Luckily,
We see, he does not. Here she comes alone.
She has sent him in to rest — or speak to Frank.
Re-enter
Mabel.
You have not kept him hanging round you long.
You are not exacting, Mabel.
MABEL.
Need I be?
ANNE.
We see you need not.
SIR ARTHUR.
Mabel, may I say
How very and truly glad I am?
MABEL.
You may
Indeed, and let me thank you. That you must.
SIR ARTHUR.
It makes one laugh, or smile at least, to think
That Master Redgie always was till now
The unlucky boy — the type of luckless youth,
Poor fellow — and now it seems you are going to give
Or rather have given him more than his deserts
Or most men’s, if not any man’s. I am
Glad.
MABEL.
Please don’t compliment. You know I have known
Reginald all my life — and can’t but know
How much more he deserves than I can give.
ANNE.
She has the courage of her faith, you see.
MABEL.
Don’t play at satire, Annie, when you know
How true it is.
ANNE.
Of course I know it, Mab.
He always was incomparable. At school
His masters always said so, and at home —
Ah, well, perhaps the grooms did.
MABEL.
One would think
You did not know him, and hated him. I wish
Almost he did not — as he does — deserve
Far more than I shall bring.
SIR ARTHUR.
Impossible:
Even if he were — no subaltern, but even
The Duke himself.
Enter
Frank
and
Reginald.
FRANK.
Who’s talking of the Duke?
Ask Redgie what he thinks of him.
REGINALD.
No, don’t.
My name’s not Homer.
ANNE.
Frenchmen say —
REGINALD.
Dear Anne,
Don’t you say ‘Frenchmen say’ — say ‘Frenchmen lie.’
They call the man who thrashes them a cur;
Then what must they be?
SIR ARTHUR.
Try to tell us, though,
Something — if only to confute the frogs
And shame their craven croaking.
REGINALD.
What on earth
Can I or any man — could Wordsworth, even —
Say that all England has not said of him
A thousand times, and will not say again
Ten thousand?
SIR ARTHUR.
Come, my boy, you’re privileged,
You know: you have served, and seen him.
REGINALD.
Seen him? Yes.
You see the sun each morning; but the sun
Takes no particular notice and displays
No special aspect just for your behoof,
Does it?
MABEL.
He never spoke to you?
REGINALD.
To me?
MABEL.
Why not?
REGINALD.
He might of course to any one;
But I’m not lucky — never was, you know.
ANNE.
They say that none of you who have followed him
Love him as Frenchmen love Napoleon.
REGINALD.
No.
How should they? No one loves the sun as much
As drunken fools love wildfires when they go
Plunging through marsh and mire and quag and haugh
To find a filthy grave.
SIR ARTHUR.
Come, come, my boy!
Remember— ‘love your enemies.’
REGINALD.
When I have
Any, I’ll try; but not my country’s; not
Traitors and liars and thieves and murderers — not
Heroes of French or Irish fashion. Think
How fast the Duke stands always — how there’s not
A fellow — can’t be — drudging in the rear
Who does not know as well as that the sun
Shines, that the man ahead of all of us
Is fit to lead or send us anywhere
And sure to keep quick time with us, if we
Want or if duty wants him — bids the chief
Keep pace with you or me. And then just think,
Could he, suppose he had been — impossibly —
Beaten and burnt out of the country, lashed,
Lashed like a hound and hunted like a hare
Back to his form or kennel through the snow,
Have left his men dropping like flies, devoured
By winter as if by fire, starved, frozen, blind,
Maimed, mad with torment,
dying in hell, while he
Scurried and scuttled off in comfort?
MABEL.
No.
He could not. Arthur quite agrees. And now
Be quiet.
SIR ARTHUR.
Redgie takes away one’s breath.
But that’s the trick to catch young ladies’ hearts —
Enthusiasm on the now successful side.
MABEL.
Successful! If we could have failed, you know,
He would have been — he, I, and you and all,
All of us, all, more passionate and keen
And hotter in our faith and loyalty
And bitterer in our love and hate than now
When thoughts of England and her work are not
Tempered with tears that are not born of pride
And joy that pride makes perfect.
FRANK.
Let’s be cool.
I have not seen you quite so hot and red
Since you were flogged for bathing at the Weir,
Redgie.
REGINALD.
Which time? the twentieth?
FRANK.
That at least.
MABEL.
Poor fellow!
REGINALD.
Ah, you always pitied me —
And spoilt me.
MABEL.
No one else did, Reginald.
REGINALD.
And right and wise they were — a worthless whelp!
MABEL.
Very. Not worth a thought — were you?
REGINALD.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 282
