V

For long months I had not seen her.

It was an April morning in England
With a cold north-westerly wind
And cold dark sleet-showers
Blotting out the uncertain spring sky.
I was sitting at my table writing a dull article,
When I saw the telegraph boy coming to the door,
And thought; what boring news does he bring?

My hear leaped when I saw it was from my love,
Who wired from a small seaside town in France:
"I am here at the Auberge de Deux Amants,
Would you like to meet me?"

In an instant my mind was made up--
For would I not go ten thousand miles
Only to look at her and to watch her living?--
So I took my pen and wrote:
"Starting immediately shall wire you again from Paris
My beautiful love I adore you."
And the telegraph boy, who is friendly, said:
"It'll cost a lot, Sir, threepence a word, Sir."
And I said: "I don't care if it's a pound a word.
Take it back at once, and telephone to the garage
That I want a car here in half an hour."

Then there was the inevitable scene
Of making excuses and arrangements and packing;
But my mind was working like a high-power engine
And I made no mistakes,
Even remembered to arrange for my letters,
And gave my address, American Express, Paris.

The tumult in my heart as I set off in the car;
(I could not wait for the slow country train)
Why had she sent for me? A jest? Was she ill? In trouble?
A whim to see if I would leave everything,
Drop my pen in the middle of a sentence, a word,
And go to her because she had called me?
Perhaps I could stay near her for a week,
Perhaps even in the same hotel--
Perhaps we should go bathing together with her friends
(Who would they be, and should I like them?)
And perhaps, when I left, I should kiss her once,
for a kiss is not such a great thing
Even from a wood-nymph with crisp hair like a young ilex tree...

First to the Bank to get money--
Qu'il est malheureux d'aimer sans une grande fortune!--
Then the express to London and the night express to Paris.
Not a wink did I sleep--for how can one sleep
As the great express hurtles over the lines
Too slowly, too slowly for one's rushing thoughts,
Bearing one nearer and nearer to one's love?
In a dream, in a dream of love I went to her,
Hoping for a little, asking only to be near her,
Pleased with the rocking of the boat I usually dread,
Glad to see that we left the clouds behind in England
And that the stars looked clear and cheerful over France,
Pleased to be back in France, and not even angry with the Customs.
Paris---a taxi to the American Express to find train times
And to arrange about letters,
Then another taxi to send her a telegram:
"Arriving five to-day,
Will go to another hotel and call this evening
Wildly happy I still adore you."
Then a rush to buy her two or three trifles she likes--
She has only to say so once and I remember them--
And a final rush to the Gare d'Orleans.
"Only five hours and I shall see her,"
I thought, as the train started from Paris.
But do you know how long five hours can be
Even in an express on a sunny April day in France
When it is carrying you to meet a wood-nymph
Whom you love in a way which would horrify a bishop?
Somehow the hours and the stations passed.
At every station I wanted to send her a telegram,
But refrained, on account of the hotel servants.
The waiter in the restaurant car thought Monsieur was maboul,
But Monsieur scarcely ate any food,
And half-way through the meal stood up in the rocking train,
Drank one glass of the best wine available
And then abruptly left the table...
If only I could tell you how happy I was
Though the long hours of that long journey,
If I could tell you the thoughts I thought,
And the hopes and the fears, and the tenderness,
The aching desires--for even a wood-nymph is half human
And one is very human oneself,
While Ovid will tell you how the daughters of gods
Have stooped to a mortal's couch.
But always in the end it came back to this:
"She has never said she loved me
And I do not think she does;
Yet it will be felicity to be near her,
for she cannot but feel she is beloved--
A fact which displeases few women--
Sometimes she will smile at me,
Even let me look into her eyes
(Why is that so poignant and so necessary?)
And let me hold her hand when no one is looking."

At last the train slowed down for the last time
At the station of the town
From which she had wired me,
And I got down the high steps of the train
With my bag and a wild assortment of emotions,
Thinking: "I will find a cab and tell the driver
To take me to the hotel nearest the Deaux Amants..."
At that movement I saw her standing on the platform,
So straight and trim in her neat spring dress
With the brim of her hat just wide enough and curved enough
To bring out the sweetness
As well as the gaiety in her face.
She laughed her whimsical laugh
As she saw my amazement, and held out her hand.
I loved her, I loved her, I loved her.
My heart gave a great leap, as it does
When a hidden gun unexpectedly bangs off
Two yards behind your head.

I could not speak, I could not speak one word;
Just dropped my bag, and kissed her hand,
For in France you may kiss the hand of a married woman.
She withdrew her hand, because I think people looked at us.
(No doubt it was rather a long kiss)
But she did so very gently.
And as I did do she let me look into her eyes,
And my heart--which was beating madly--
Gave another preposterous jump,
For never had she looked at me so kindly,
And I even thought there was tenderness in her gaze.
"Come," she said, "I've a porter for your bag,
And a car waiting outside. I'll drive you along."

Now, if you're the slow northern type that I am
You'll understand my happy confusion.
I was do bewildered
That my esprithadn't even got onto the escalier;
I only said: "That's dear of you,"
And followed her along the platform.
She stopped at the telegraph office, saying:
"Wait a moment, I must send some telegrams."

Outside the station was a new French two-seater,
And it seemed almost too much honour
That the porter should strap my shabby bag on the back,
And even more of an honour that I should sit in it
Beside my love.

As we started I said to her:
"It makes me quite happy to be near you;
How dear of you to ask me with your other friends.
But I'm so anxious about you.
You look so beautiful an well,
But are you in any difficulty?
Can I do anything?

She laughed again
(Do you know how sweet it is
To hear the soft laughter of one's love
With just a touch of mockery in it,
When she seems happy and looks so beautiful?)
And she said: "No, nothing wrong;
Just that I am alone here
And thought I'd like a companion."

Alone, alone! So we should be alone together,
And we could walk and eat and talk together,
And go on excursions and bathe together,
And she would read to me in her clear voice,
And we could argue about books and painting,
And talk scandal about all our friends
(If we wanted to do anything so silly)
And tell each other what were writing and thinking.

Alone, alone with my love!
Then I noticed she had driven onto a road,
A warm southern country road
Leading straight out into the country,
And I said: "Haven't you gone wrong?
Where are you taking me?
Which hotel are you taking me to?
Are they outside the town?"

Then once more she laughed,
And half bent forward over the steering wheel,
Saying: "You're pretty mystified, aren't you?"
And I admitted I was mystified,
But I didn't mention the wild hope
Which had suddenly leaped up in me.
And she said: "Shall I tell you now
Or will you wait for the surprise?"
And I answered: "Please tell me now,
No surprise could make me happier."

And so, as we drove along the country road
With the sea to our left
And a range of hills in front of us
And another range of hills to our right,
She told me, my love told me her "surprise."

"I've been here more than a month," she said,
"Writing, and I've rented a little country house
Close by the sea at Sainte Veronique,
Which is a little fishing village
At the end of that long promontory over there,
About ten miles from here,
And you're going to stay there with me--if you want--
Until one or both of us get tired."

Here that infernal reticence came on me again,
(It's a damned shame to send boys
To those imbecile Public Schools
Which destroy all immediate response
And ability to conquer shyness,
In order to make obedient Empire-builders,
But thank God I always hated them and their sort,
And fought against them, blindly, but to the bitter end,)
So I couldn't say anything.
But after all there is a sort of a poet in me,
And that prompted me;
I put my left arm gently round her,
And she didn't mind at all, but let it stay.
"And you asked me to come!
How wonderful, how wonderful!
It's far more exciting
Than anything in the Arabian Nights..."

"Don't be too flattered." she said,
(But her smile was tender
And I didn't mind her teasing me,
For I suppose a willful whimsical tree-nymph
Cannot help teasing a lover)
"Don't be too flattered,
You're only here to temper my solitude,
Yesterday morning I woke up
And decided I would have to have company--
Yes, a lover if you like,
I remembered there were three men in England
Who had all sworn they loved me,
You and B. and C.;
So I sent you all the same telegram.
I pretended to be staying at the Deux Amants
And arranged with them to send on telegrams.
I knew you were all in the country
About the same distance from London,
So you all had the same chance to get here together.
I decided that if you all arrived by the same train
I might give the preference to the one
Whose telegram got here first;
And if one of you was so ardent
As to get here before the others
I thought he might have a very good chance..."

(I suddenly went cold, for I had forgotten
That there are airplanes between London and Paris,
And that I might have been beaten in the race)

"But of course," she went on, to console me,
Thinking that the tightening of my arm
Meant that I was jealous, when it only meant
I was calling myself a fool for not taking an airplane,
"Of course, I hopped it would be you, and it was you..
B wired that he frantically regretted delay
And hoped to be here within a fortnight--
And C. was even more gallant and particular,
He said that as soon as he had finished his picture--
Which he thought would be next Wednesday--
He would run up to town for a day or two
To pick up a few necessary things,
And then would come straight on here,
So you see, you won.
I wired them just now: ‘Too late.'
I suppose you happened not to be doing anything?"

"I only left a word unfinished
In the middle of an unfinished sentence...."

"Don't protest too much, I shan't believe you...."
And at that moment we stopped at the gate
Of a short drive leading to a large cottage
Build, facing the sea, in the Italian style,
With balconies and a verandah and three large stone-pines.
And a run or broken ground down to the shore,
Which was a little cup of a bay
Almost at the end of the promontory....

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