Maid

Thou dost deceive, not me, but thine own self. My fate is not a wandering, vagrant elf. My fate is here, within this throbbing heart That beats alone for glory, and for art.

Voice

[Another knock at door.]

Pray, let me in; I am so faint and cold.

[Door is pushed ajar. Enter CUPID, who approaches the fire with outstretched hands.]

MAID (indignantly)

Methinks thou art not faint, however cold, But rather too courageous, and most bold; Surprisingly ill-mannered, sir, and rude, Without an invitation to intrude Into my very presence.

CUPID (warming his hands)

But, you see, Girls never mind a little chap like me. They’re always watching for me on the sly, And hoping I will call.

MAID (haughtily)

Indeed, not I! My heart has listened to a sweeter voice, A clarion call that gives command—not choice. And I have answered to that call, ‘I come’; To other voices shall my ears be dumb. To art alone I consecrate my life— Art is my spouse, and I his willing wife.

CUPID (slowly, gazing in the grate)

Art is a sultan, and you must divide His love with many another ill-fed bride. Now I know one who worships you alone.

MAID (impatiently)

I will not listen! for the dice is thrown And art has won me. On my brow some day Shall rest the laurel wreath—

CUPID (sitting down and looking at MAID critically)

Just let me say I think sweet orange blossoms under lace Are better suited to your type of face.

MAID (ignoring interruption)

I yet shall stand before an audience That listens as one mind, absorbed, intense, And with my genius I shall rouse its cheers, Still it to silence, soften it to tears, Or wake its laughter. Oh, the play! the play! The play’s the thing! My boy, the play!!

CUPID (suddenly clapping his hands)

Oh, say! I know a splendid role for you to take, And one that always keeps the house awake— And calls for pretty dressing. Oh, it’s great!

MAID (excitedly)

Well, well, what is it? Wherefore make me wait?

CUPID (tapping his brow, thoughtfully)

How is it those lines run—oh, now I know; You make a stately entrance—measured—slow— To stirring music, then you kneel and say Something about—to honour and obey— For better and for worse—till death do part.

MAID (angrily)

Be still, you foolish boy; that is not art.

CUPID (seriously)

She needs great skill who takes the role of wife In God’s stupendous drama human life.

MAID (suddenly becoming serious)

So I once thought! Oh, once my very soul Was filled and thrilled with dreaming of that role. Life seemed so wonderful; it held for me No purpose, no ambition, but to be Loving and loved. My highest thought of fame Was some day bearing my dear lover’s name. Alone, I ofttimes uttered it aloud, Or wrote it down, half timid, and all proud To see myself lost utterly in him: As some small star might joy in growing dim When sinking in the sun; or as the dew, Forgetting the brief little life it knew In space, might on the ocean’s bosom fall And ask for nothing—only to give all.

CUPID (aside)

Now, that’s the talk—it’s music to my ear After that stuff on ‘art’ and a ‘career.’ I hope she’ll keep it up.

MAIDEN (continuing her reverie)

Again my dream Shaped into changing pictures. I would seem To see myself in beautiful array Move down the aisle upon my wedding day; And then I saw the modest living-room With lighted lamp, and fragrant plants in bloom, And books and sewing scattered all about, And just we two alone.

CUPID (in glee aside)

There’s not a doubt I’ll land her yet!