The Goddess of Reason 40
To bring the dead again! No flowret blooms,
No herb, no leaf, shall bring the dead again.
No garden is there where for all one’s gold,
The weightiest sceptre or the keenest sword,
Might one obtain the happy gardener’s place,
And find the bloom that brings the dead again.
It grows not here, and there is naught will serve,
No rain of tears, no delving earnestly,
No lift of hope, no squandered treasury,
Love nor remorse, nor longing nor great pain.
The star has shot. The dead come not again.
[_He rises and again walks to and fro._
Happy the dead.—Ah, what of one who lives?
What of that mask in this fantastic dance
Who crowned herself with poison flowers and laughed
To see the lilies fade before her breath?—
O death! O love! O blasting treachery!
O face that in the prison of La Force
Visited my dreams—
[_The door opens._ YVETTE _leans against it, panting,
then comes forward_.
YVETTE
Where is the paper?
DE VARDES
The paper?
YVETTE
The letter to the judges!
Folded and hidden in the purse I sent—
DE VARDES
You sent?—
YVETTE
By Séraphine! You have it, sure?
[_She looks about her._
Where is she?—The Citoyenne Blanchefôret?
DE VARDES
She’s dead.
YVETTE
No.
DE VARDES
Yes.
YVETTE
All is black before me!
DE VARDES
They called her name—She said adieu and went.
They slew her in the street.
YVETTE
Alas!
DE VARDES
She’s dead,
Who was so fair. Why do you say alas?
YVETTE
Too late!—O God, I thought that all was well!
DE VARDES
Why, so it is! With her ‘tis well. She’s dead.
They say the dead are happy.
YVETTE
You loved her!
DE VARDES
Goddess of Reason, no! Mere friends were we.
But I’ve a preference for my friends alive!
YVETTE
Oh, woe is me!
DE VARDES
Thou hast what thou didst seek.
Return to Olympus and hear “All hail,
Well done, and like a deity!”
YVETTE
The paper!
DE VARDES
Thou dream of Paimpont Wood!—
YVETTE
The purse of gold!
DE VARDES
Thou picture of the Duchess Jeanne!
YVETTE
The purse!
Give, give!
DE VARDES
The purse!—I gave it to Grégoire.
YVETTE
What!
DE VARDES
It bought five minutes—I did not know
‘Twas thine.
YVETTE
To Grégoire! You did not open it!
DE VARDES
No!
YVETTE
Oh, woe, woe is me!
DE VARDES
Thou standest there!
Still, still the herd girl on the green cliff head
Who waves her hand to a lost boat at sea!
Still, still the vision of a haunted wood
Soulless as is the stone thou leanest on,—
Vivien musing on the thing she’s done!
YVETTE
A slip of paper in a silken purse—
DE VARDES
Wilt thou begone? The Mountain waits.
YVETTE
Too late!
Where is Grégoire?
DE VARDES
I know not. He’s away;
He has thy gold—I’m sorry for’t.
YVETTE
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