Be all you cannot be except by her!
Behold her. - Madam, say for pity's sake
Any thing-frankly say you love him. Else
He'll not believe it: there's more earnest in
His fear than you conceive - I know the man.
I know the woman somewhat, and confess
I thought she had jested better - she begins
To overcharge her part. I gravely wait
Your pleasure, madam: where is my reward?
Norbert, this wild girl (whom I recognize
Scarce more than you do, in her fancy-fit,
Eccentric speech and variable mirth,
Not very wise perhaps and somewhat bold
Yet suitable, the whole night's work being strange)
-May still be right: I may do well to speak
And make authentic what appears a dream
To even myself. For, what she says, is true
Yes, Norbert what you spoke but now of love,
Devotion, stirred no novel sense in me,
But justified a warmth felt long before.
Yes, from the first - I loved I shall say,
Strange! but I do grow stronger, now 'tis said,
Your courage helps mine you did well to speak
To-night, the night that crowns your twelvemonths' toil
But still I had not waited to discern
Your heart so long, believe me! From the first
The source of so much zeal was almost plain,
In absence even of your own words just now
Which opened out the truth. Tis very strange,
But takes a happy ending-in your love
Which mine meets: be it so
And worthily you choose!
I will not be unworthy your esteem,
No, madam. I do love you; I will meet Your nature, now I know it; this was well, dare and you are justified:
I see,
But none had ventured such experiment,
Less versed than you in nobleness of heart,
Less confident of finding it in me.
I like that thus you test me ere you grant
The dearest, richest, beauteousest and best
Of women to my arms! 'tis like yourself!
So
- back again into my part's set words Devotion to the uttermost is yours,
But no, you cannot, madam, even you,
Create in me the love our Constance does.
Or something truer to the tragic phrase
Not yon magnolia-bell superb with scent
Invites a certain insect- that's myself—
But the small eye-flower nearer to the ground:
I take this lady!
that mistake were worst of all.
(He is too cunning, madam !) it was I,
I, Norbert, who...
You, was it, Constance? Then,
But for the grace of this divinest hour
Which gives me you, I should not pardon here.
I am the Queen's: she only knows my brain
She may experiment therefore on my heart
And I instruct her too by the result;
But you, sweet, you who know me, who so long
Have told my heart-beats over, held my life
In those white hands of yours,
Tush! I have said it, did I not say it all?
Enough! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test
There's not the meanest woman in the world,
Not she I least could love in all the world,
Whom, did she love me, did love prove itself,
I dared insult as you insult me now.
Constance, I could say, if it must be said,
"Take back the soul you offer - I keep mine'
But "Take the soul still quivering on your hand,
The soul so offered, which I cannot use,
And, please you, give it to some friend of mine,
For - what's the trifle he requites me with ?"
I, tempt a woman, to amuse a man,
That two may mock her heart if it succumb?
No! fearing God and standing 'neath his heaven,
I would not dare insult a woman so,
Where she the meanest woman in the world,
And he, I cared to please, ten emperors!
I love once as I live but once.
What case is this to think or talk about?
I love you. Would it mend the case at all
Should such a step as this kill love in me?
Your part were done: account to God for it.
But mine could murdered love get up again,
And kneel to whom you pleased to designate
And make you mirth? It is too horrible.
You did not know this, Constance? now you know
That body and soul have each one life, but one:
And here's my love, here, living, at your feet.
See the Queen! Norbert-this one more last word
If thus you have taken jest for earnest — thus
Loved me in earnest...
Ah, no jest holds here!
Where is the laughter in which jests break up?
And what this horror that grows palpable?
why grasp you thus the balcony?
Have I done ill? Have I not spoken the truth?
How could I other? Was it not your test,
To try me, and what my love for Constance meant?
Madam, your royal soul itself approves,
The first, that I should choose thus ! so one takes
A beggar asks him what would buy his child,
And then approves the expected laugh of scorn
Returned as something noble from the rags.
Speak, Constance, I'm the beggar! Ha, what's this?
You two glare each at each like panthers now.
the world fades; only you stand there! You did not in to-night's wild whirl of things
your soul of souls, for any price?
- 'tis easy to believe in you.
Was it your love's mad trial to o'ertop
Mine by this vain self-sacrifice? well, still
Though I should curse, I love you. I am love
And cannot change! love's self is at your feet.
[QUEEN goes out.
Feel my heart; let it die against your own.
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