Pelleas and Melisande written by Maurice Maeterlinck
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7 Pelleas and Melisande
ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES
HOME
BY
MAURICE MAETERLINCK
_Translated by_ RICHARD HOVEY
1911
1896, BY
STONE AND KIMBALL
Contents
PREFACE (by Maurice Maeterlinck)
PELLEAS AND MELISANDE
ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES
HOME
Preface.
On m'a demande plus d'une fois si mes drames, de _La Princesse
Maleine_ a _La Mort de Tintagiles_, avaient ete reellement ecrits pour
un theatre de marionettes, ainsi que je l'avais affirme dans l'edition
originale de cette sauvage petite legende des malheurs de Maleine. En
verite, ils ne furent pas ecrits pour des acteurs ordinaires. Il n'y
avait la nul desir ironique et pas la moindre humilite non plus. Je
croyais sincerement et je crois encore aujourd'hui, que les poemes
meurent lorsque des etres vivants s'y introduisent. Un jour, dans un
ecrit dont je ne retrouve plus que quelques fragments mutiles, j'ai
essaye d'expliquer ces choses qui dorment, sans doute, au fond de
notre instinct et qu'il est bien difficile de reveiller completement.
J'y constatais d'abord, qu'une inquietude nous attendait a tout
spectacle auquel nous assistions et qu'une deception a peu pres
ineffable accompagnait toujours la chute du rideau. N'est-il pas
evident que le Macbeth ou l'Hamlet que nous voyons sur la scene ne
ressemble pas au Macbeth ou a l'Hamlet du livre? Qu'il a visiblement
retrograde dans le sublime? Qu'une grande partie des efforts du poete
qui voulait creer avant tout une vie superieure, une vie plus proche
de notre ame, a ete annulee par une force ennemie qui ne peut se
manifester qu'en ramenant cette vie superieure au niveau de la vie
ordinaire? Il y a peut-etre, me disais-je, aux sources de ce malaise,
un tres ancien malentendu, a la suite duquel le theatre ne fut jamais
exactement ce qu'il est dans l'instinct de la foule, a savoir: _le
temple du Reve_. Il faut admettre, ajoutai-je, que le theatre, du
moins en ses tendances, est un art. Mais je n'y trouve pas la
marque des autres arts. L'art use toujours d'un detour et n'agit pas
directement. Il a pour mission supreme la revelation de i'infini et de
la grandeur ainsi que la beaute secrete, de l'homme. Mais montrer
au doigt a l'enfant qui nous accompagne, les etoiles d'une unit de
Juillet, ce n'est pas faire une oeuvre d'art. Il faut que l'art agisse
comme les abeilles. Elles n'apportent pas aux larves de la ruche les
fleurs des champs qui renferment leur avenir et leur vie. Les larves
mourraient sous ces fleurs sans se douter de rien. Il faut que les
abeilles nourricieres apportent a ces nymphes aveugles l'ame meme
de ces fleurs, et c'est alors seulement qu'elles trouveront sans le
savoir en ce miel mysterieux la substance des ailes qui un jour les
emporteront a leur tour dans l'espace. Or, le poeme etait une
oeuvre d'art et portait ces obliques et admirables marques. Mais la
representation vient le contredire. Elle chasse vraiment les cygnes
du grand lac, et elle rejette les perles dans l'abime. Elle remet les
choses exactement au point ou elles etaient avant la venue du poete.
La densite mystique de l'oeuvre d'art a disparue. Elle verse dans
la meme erreur que celui qui apres avoir vante a ses auditeurs
l'admirable _Annonciation_ de Vinci, par exemple, s'imaginerait
qu'il a fait penetrer dans leurs ames la beaute surnaturelle de cette
peinture en reproduisant, en un tableau vivant, tous les details du
grand chef-d'oeuvre florentin.
Qui sait si ce n'est pas pour ces raisons cachees que l'on est oblige
de s'avouer que la plupart des grands poemes de l'humanite ne sont pas
sceniques? _Lear, Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Antoine et Cleopatre_,
ne peuvent etre representes, et il est dangereux de les voir sur
la scene. Quelque chose d'Hamlet est mort pour nous du jour ou nous
l'avons vu mourir sous nos yeux. Le spectre d'un acteur l'a detrone,
et nous ne pouvons plus ecarter l'usurpateur de nos reves. Ouvrez les
portes, ouvrez le livre, le prince anterieur ne revient plus. Il a
perdu la faculte de vivre selon la beaute la plus secrete de notre
ame. Parfois son ombre passe encore en tremblant sur le seuil, mais
desormais il n'ose plus, il ne peut plus entrer; et bien des voix sont
mortes qui l'acclamaient en nous.
Je me souviens de cette mort de l'Hamlet de mes reves. Un soir
j'ouvris la porte a l'usurpateur du poeme. L'acteur etait illustre. Il
entra. Un seul de ses regards me montra qu'il n'etait pas Hamlet.
Il ne le fut pas un seul instant pour moi. Je le vis s'agiter durant
trois heures dans le mensonge. Je voyais clairement qu'il avait ses
propres destinees; et celles qu'il voulait representer m'etaient
indiciblement indifferentes a cote des siennes. Je voyais sa sante
et ses habitudes, ses passions et ses tristesses, ses pensees et
ses oeuvres, et il essayait vainement de m'interesser a une vie qui
n'etait pas la sienne et que sa seule presence avait rendue factice.
Depuis je le revois lorsque j'ouvre le livre et Elsinore n'est plus le
palais d'autrefois....
"La verite," dit quelque part Charles Lamb, "la verite est que les
caracteres de Shakespeare sont tellement des objets de meditation
plutot que d'interet ou de curiosite relativement a leurs actes,
que, tandis que nous lisons l'un de ses grands caracteres
criminels,--Macbeth, Richard, Iago meme,--nous ne songeons pas
tant aux crimes qu'ils commettent, qu'a l'ambition, a l'esprit
d'aspiration, a l'activite intellectuelle qui les poussent a franchir
ces barrieres morales. Les actions nous affectent si peu, que, tandis
que les impulsions, l'esprit interieur en toute sa perverse grandeur,
paraissent seuls reels et appellent seuls l'attention, le crime n'est
comparativement rien. Mais lorsque nous voyons representer ces choses,
les actes sont comparativement tout, et les mobiles ne sont plus rien.
L'emotion sublime ou nous sommes entraines par ces images de nuit
et d'horreur qu'exprime Macbeth; ce solennel prelude ou il s'oublie
jusqu'a ce que l'horloge sonne l'heure qui doit l'appeler au meurtre
de Duncan; lorsque nous ne lisons plus cela dans un livre, lorsque
nous avons abandonne ce poste avantageux de l'abstraction d'ou la
lecture domine la vision, et lorsque nous voyons sous nos yeux, un
homme en sa forme corporelle se preparer actuellement au meurtre; si
le jeu de l'acteur est vrai et puissant, la penible anxiete au sujet
de l'acte, le naturel desir de le prevenir tout qu'il ne semble
pas accompli, la trop puissante apparence de realite, provoquent un
malaise et une inquietude qui detruisent totalement le plaisir que les
mots apportent dans le livre, ou l'acte ne nous oppresse jamais de
la penible sensation de sa presence, et semble plutot appartenir a
l'histoire; a quelque chose de passe et d'inevitable."
Charles Lamb a raison, et pour mille raisons bien plus profondes
encore que celles qu'il nous donne. Le theatre est le lien ou meurent
la plupart des chefs-d'oeuvre, parce que la representation d'un
chef-d'oeuvre a l'aide d'elements accidentels et humains est
antinomique. Tout chef-d'oeuvre est un symbole, et le symbole ne
supporte pas la presence active de l'homme. Il suffit que le coq
chante, dit Hamlet, pour que les spectres de la nuit s'evanouissent.
Et de meme, le poeme perd sa vie "de la seconde sphere" lorsqu'un etre
de la sphere inferieure s'y introduit. L'accident ramene le symbole
a l'accident; et le chef-d'oeuvre, en son essence, est mort durant le
temps de cette presence et de ses traces.
Les Grecs n'ignorerent pas cette antinomie, et leurs masques que nous
ne comprenons plus ne servaient probablement qu'a attenuer la presence
de l'homme et a soulager le symbole. Aux epoques ou le theatre eut une
vie veritable, il la dut peut-etre uniquement a quelque circonstance
ou a quelque artifice qui venait en aide du poeme dans sa lutte contre
l'homme. Ainsi, sous Elisabeth, par exemple, la declamation etait une
sorte de melopee, le jeu etait conventionnel, et la scene aussi. Il en
etait a peu pres de meme sous Louis XIV. Le poeme se retire a mesure
que l'homme s'avance. Le poeme veut nous arracher du pouvoir de nos
sens et faire predominer le passe et l'avenir; l'homme, au contraire,
n'agit que sur nos sens et n'existe que pour autant qu'il puisse
effacer cette predomination. S'il entre en scene avec toutes ses
puissances, et libre comme s'il entrait dans une foret; si sa voix,
ses gestes, et son attitude ne sont pas voilees par un grand nombre
de conventions synthetiques; si l'on apercoit un seul instant l'etre
vivant qu'il est et l'ame qu'il possede,--il n'y a pas de poeme au
monde qui ne recule devant lui. A ce moment precis, le spectacle du
poeme s'interrompt et nous assistons a une scene de la vie exterieure,
qui, de meme qu'une scene de la rue, de la riviere, ou du champ de
bataille, a ses beautes eternelles et secretes, mais qui est neanmoins
impuissante a nous arracher du present, parce qu'en cet instant nous
n'avons pas la qualite pour apercevoir ces beautes invisibles, qui ne
sont que "des fleurs offertes aux vers aveugles."
Et c'est pour ces raisons, et pour d'autres encore qu'on pourrait
rechercher dans les memes parages, que j'avais destine mes petits
drames a des etres indulgents aux poemes, et que, faute de mieux,
j'appelle "Marionettes."
MAURICE MAETERLINCK.
Pelleas and Melisande.
_To Octave Mirbeau_.
In witness of deep friendship, admiration, and gratitude.
M.M.
PERSONS
ARKEL, _King of Allemonde._
GENEVIEVE, _mother of Pelleas and Golaud_.
PELLEAS,}
}_grandsons of Arkel._
GOLAUD, }
MELISANDE.
LITTLE YNIOLD, _son of Golaud (by a former marriage)._
A PHYSICIAN.
THE PORTER.
_Servants, Beggars, etc._
Pelleas and Melisande.
* * * * *
ACT FIRST.
SCENE I.--_The gate of the castle._
MAIDSERVANTS _(within)._
Open the gate! Open the gate!
PORTER _(within)._
Who is there? Why do you come and wake me up? Go out by the little
gates; there are enough of them!...
A MAIDSERVANT _(within)._
We have come to wash the threshold, the gate, and the steps; open,
then! open!
ANOTHER MAIDSERVANT _(within)._
There are going to be great happenings!
THIRD MAIDSERVANT _(within)._
There are going to be great fetes! Open quickly!...
THE MAIDSERVANTS.
Open! open!
PORTER.
Wait! wait! I do not know whether I shall be able to open it;... it is
never opened.... Wait till it is light....
FIRST MAIDSERVANT.
It is light enough without; I see the sunlight through the chinks....
PORTER.
Here are the great keys.... Oh! oh! how the bolts and the locks
grate!... Help me! help me!...
MAIDSERVANTS.
We are pulling; we are pulling....
SECOND MAIDSERVANT.
It will not open....
FIRST MAIDSERVANT.
Ah! ah! It is opening! it is opening slowly!
PORTER.
How it shrieks! how it shrieks! it will wake up everybody....
SECOND MAIDSERVANT.
_[Appearing on the threshold.]_ Oh, how light it is already
out-of-doors!
FIRST MAIDSERVANT.
The sun is rising on the sea!
PORTER.
It is open.... It is wide open!... [_All the maidservants appear on
the threshold and pass over it._]
FIRST MAIDSERVANT.
I am going to wash the sill first....
SECOND MAIDSERVANT.
We shall never be able to clean all this.
OTHER MAIDSERVANTS.
Fetch the water! fetch the water!
PORTER.
Yes, yes; pour on water; pour on water; pour on all the water of the
Flood! You will never come to the end of it....
SCENE II.--_A forest._ MELISANDE _discovered at the brink of a
spring._
_Enter_ GOLAUD.
GOLAUD.
I shall never be able to get out of this forest again.--God knows
where that beast has led me. And yet I thought I had wounded him to
death; and here are traces of blood. But now I have lost sight of him;
I believe I am lost myself--my dogs can no longer find me--I shall
retrace my steps....--I hear weeping.... Oh! oh! what is there yonder
by the water's edge?... A little girl weeping by the water's edge?
[_He coughs._]--She does not hear me. I cannot see her face. [_He
approaches and touches_ MELISANDE _on the shoulder._] Why weepest
thou? [MELISANDE _trembles, starts up, and would flee._]--Do not be
afraid. You have nothing to fear. Why are you weeping here all alone?
MELISANDE.
Do not touch me! do not touch me!
GOLAUD.
Do not be afraid.... I will not do you any.... Oh, you are beautiful!
MELISANDE.
Do not touch me! do not touch me! or I throw myself in the water!...
GOLAUD.
I will not touch you.... See, I will stay here, against the tree. Do
not be afraid. Has any one hurt you?
MELISANDE
Oh! yes! yes! yes!... [_She sobs profoundly._]
GOLAUD.
Who has hurt you?
MELISANDE.
Every one! every one!
GOLAUD. What hurt have they done you?
MELISANDE.
I will not tell! I cannot tell!...
GOLAUD.
Come; do not weep so. Whence come you?
MELISANDE.
I have fled!... fled ... fled....
GOLAUD.
Yes; but whence have you fled?
MELISANDE.
I am lost!... lost!... Oh! oh! lost here.... I am not of this
place.... I was not born there....
GOLAUD.
Whence are you? Where were you born?
MELISANDE.
Oh! oh! far away from here!... far away ... far away....
GOLAUD.
What is it shining so at the bottom of the water?
MELISANDE.
Where?--Ah! it is the crown he gave me. It fell as I was weeping....
GOLAUD.
A crown?--Who was it gave you a crown?--I will try to get it....
MELISANDE.
No, no; I will have no more of it! I will have no more of it!... I had
rather die ... die at once....
GOLAUD.
I could easily pull it out. The water is not very deep.
MELISANDE.
I will have no more of it! If you take it out, I throw myself in its
place!...
GOLAUD.
No, no; I will leave it there. It could be reached without difficulty,
nevertheless. It seems very beautiful.--Is it long since you fled?
MELISANDE.
Yes, yes!... Who are you?
GOLAUD.
I am Prince Golaud,--grandson of Arkel, the old King of Allemonde....
MELISANDE.
Oh, you have gray hairs already....
GOLAUD.
Yes; some, here, by the temples....
MELISANDE
And in your beard, too.... Why do you look at me so?
GOLAUD.
I am looking at your eyes.--Do you never shut your eyes?
MELISANDE.
Oh, yes; I shut them at night....
GOLAUD.
Why do you look so astonished?
MELISANDE.
You are a giant?
GOLAUD.
I am a man like the rest....
MELISANDE.
Why have you come here?
GOLAUD.
I do not know, myself. I was hunting in the forest, I was chasing a
wild boar. I mistook the road.--You look very young. How old are you?
MELISANDE.
I am beginning to be cold....
GOLAUD.
Will you come with me!
MELISANDE.
No, no; I will stay here....
GOLAUD.
You cannot stay here all alone. You cannot stay here all night
long.... What is your name?
MELISANDE.
Melisande.
GOLAUD.
You cannot stay here, Melisande. Come with me....
MELISANDE.
I will stay here....
GOLAUD.
You will be afraid, all alone. We do not know what there may be here
... all night long ... all alone ... it is impossible. Melisande,
come, give me your hand....
MELISANDE.
Oh, do not touch me!...
GOLAUD.
Do not scream.... I will not touch you again. But come with me. The
night will be very dark and very cold. Come with me....
MELISANDE.
Where are you going?...
GOLAUD.
I do not know.... I am lost too....
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.--_A hall in the castle_. ARKEL _and_ GENEVIEVE
_discovered_.
GENEVIEVE.
Here is what he writes to his brother Pelleas: "I found her all in
tears one evening, beside a spring in the forest where I had lost
myself. I do not know her age, nor who she is, nor whence she comes,
and I dare not question her, for she must have had a sore fright; and
when you ask her what has happened to her, she falls at once a-weeping
like a child, and sobs so heavily you are afraid. Just as I found her
by the springs, a crown of gold had slipped from her hair and fallen
to the bottom of the water. She was clad, besides, like a princess,
though her garments had been torn by the briers. It is now six months
since I married her and I know no more about it than on the day of
our meeting. Meanwhile, dear Pelleas, thou whom I love more than a
brother, although we were not born of the same father; meanwhile make
ready for my return.... I know my mother will willingly forgive me.
But I am afraid of the King, our venerable grandsire, I am afraid of
Arkel, in spite of all his kindness, for I have undone by this strange
marriage all his plans of state, and I fear the beauty of Melisande
will not excuse my folly to eyes so wise as his. If he consents
nevertheless to receive her as he would receive his own daughter,
the third night following this letter, light a lamp at the top of the
tower that overlooks the sea. I shall perceive it from the bridge
of our ship; otherwise I shall go far away again and come back no
more...." What say you of it?
ARKEL.
Nothing. He has done what he probably must have done. I am very old,
and nevertheless I have not yet seen clearly for one moment into
myself; how would you that I judge what others have done? I am not
far from the tomb and do not succeed in judging myself.... One always
mistakes when one does not close his eyes. That may seem strange to
us; but that is all. He is past the age to marry and he weds like a
child, a little girl he finds by a spring.... That may seem strange to
us, because we never see but the reverse of destinies ... the reverse
even of our own.... He has always followed my counsels hitherto; I had
thought to make him happy in sending him to ask the hand of Princess
Ursula.... He could not remain alone; since the death of his wife he
has been sad to be alone; and that marriage would have put an end to
long wars and old hatreds.... He would not have it so. Let it be as he
would have it; I have never put myself athwart a destiny; and he knows
better than I his future. There happen perhaps no useless events....
GENEVIEVE.
He has always been so prudent, so grave and so firm.... If it were
Pelleas, I should understand.... But he ... at his age.... Who is it
he is going to introduce here?--An unknown found along the roads....
Since his wife's death, he has no longer lived for aught but his son,
the little Yniold, and if he were about to marry again, it was because
you had wished it.... And now ... a little girl in the forest.... He
has forgotten everything....--What shall we do?...
_Enter_ PELLEAS.
ARKEL.
Who is coming in there?
GENEVIEVE.
It is Pelleas. He has been weeping.
ARKEL.
Is it thou, Pelleas?--Come a little nearer, that I may see thee in the
light....
PELLEAS.
Grandfather, I received another letter at the same time as my
brother's; a letter from my friend Marcellus.... He is about to die
and calls for me. He would see me before dying....
ARKEL.
Thou wouldst leave before thy brother's return?--Perhaps thy friend is
less ill than he thinks....
PELLEAS
His letter is so sad you can see death between the lines.... He says
he knows the very day when death must come.... He tells me I can
arrive before it if I will, but that there is no more time to lose.
The journey is very long, and if I await Golaud's return, it will be
perhaps too late....
ARKEL.
Thou must wait a little while, nevertheless.... We do not know what
this return has in store for us. And besides, is not thy father here,
above us, more sick perhaps than thy friend.... Couldst thou choose
between the father and the friend?... [_Exit._
GENEVIEVE.
Have a care to keep the lamp lit from this evening, Pelleas....
[_Exeunt severally._
SCENE IV.--_Before the castle. Enter_ GENEVIEVE _and_ MELISANDE.
MELISANDE.
It is gloomy in the gardens. And what forests, what forests all about
the palaces!...
GENEVIEVE.
Yes; that astonished me too when I came hither; it astonishes
everybody. There are places where you never see the sun. But one gets
used to it so quickly.... It is long ago, it is long ago.... It is
nearly forty years that I have lived here.... Look toward the other
side, you will have the light of the sea....
MELISANDE.
I hear a noise below us....
GENEVIEVE.
Yes; it is some one coming up toward us.... Ah! it is Pelleas.... He
seems still tired from having waited so long for you....
MELISANDE.
He has not seen us.
GENEVIEVE.
I think he has seen us but does not know what he should do....
Pelleas, Pelleas, is it thou?...
_Enter_ PELLEAS
PELLEAS.
Yes!... I was coming toward the sea....
GENEVIEVE.
So were we; we were seeking the light. It is a little lighter here
than elsewhere; and yet the sea is gloomy.
PELLEAS
We shall have a storm to-night. There has been one every night for
some time, and yet it is so calm now.... One might embark unwittingly
and come back no more.
MELISANDE.
Something is leaving the port....
PELLEAS.
It must be a big ship.... The lights are very high, we shall see it in
a moment, when it enters the band of light....
GENEVIEVE.
I do not know whether we shall be able to see it ... there is still a
fog on the sea....
PELLEAS.
The fog seems to be rising slowly....
MELISANDE.
Yes; I see a little light down there, which I had not seen....
PELLEAS.
It is a lighthouse; there are others we cannot see yet.
MELISANDE.
The ship is in the light.... It is already very far away....
PELLEAS.
It is a foreign ship. It looks larger than ours....
MELISANDE.
It is the ship that brought me here!...
PELLEAS.
It flies away under full sail....
MELISANDE.
It is the ship that brought me here. It has great sails.... I
recognized it by its sails.
PELLEAS.
There will be a rough sea to-night.
MELISANDE.
Why does it go away to-night?... You can hardly see it any longer....
Perhaps it will be wrecked....
PELLEAS.
The sight falls very quickly.... [_A silence._
GENEVIEVE.
No one speaks any more?... You have nothing more to say to each
other?... It is time to go in. Pelleas, show Melisande the way. I mast
go see little Yniold a moment. [_Exit._
PELLEAS.
Nothing can be seen any longer on the sea....
MELISANDE.
I see more lights.
PELLEAS.
It is the other lighthouses.... Do you hear the sea?... It is the wind
rising.... Let us go down this way. Will you give me your hand?
MELISANDE.
See, see, my hands are full....
PELLEAS.
I will hold you by the arm, the road is steep and it is very gloomy
there.... I am going away perhaps to-morrow....
MELISANDE.
Oh!... why do you go away? [_Exeunt._
ACT SECOND.
SCENE I.--_A fountain in the park.
Enter_ PELLEAS _and_ MELISANDE.
PELLEAS.
You do not know where I have brought you?--I often come to sit here,
toward noon, when it is too hot in the gardens. It is stifling to-day,
even in the shade of the trees.
MELISANDE.
Oh, how clear the water is!...
PELLEAS.
It is as cool as winter. It is an old abandoned spring. It seems to
have been a miraculous spring,--it opened the eyes of the blind,--they
still call it "Blind Man's Spring."
MELISANDE.
It no longer opens the eyes of the blind?
PELLEAS.
Since the King has been nearly blind himself, no one comes any
more....
MELISANDE.
How alone one is here!... There is no sound.
PELLEAS.
There is always a wonderful silence here.... One could hear the water
sleep.... Will you sit down on the edge of the marble basin? There is
one linden where the sun never comes....
MELISANDE.
I am going to lie down on the marble.--I should like to see the bottom
of the water....
PELLEAS.
No one has ever seen it.--It is as deep, perhaps, as the sea.--It is
not known whence it comes.--Perhaps it comes from the bottom of the
earth....
MELISANDE.
If there were anything shining at the bottom, perhaps one could see
it....
PELLEAS.
Do not lean over so....
MELISANDE.
I would like to touch the water....
PELLEAS.
Have a care of slipping.... I will hold your hand....
MELISANDE.
No, no, I would plunge both hands in it.... You would say my hands
were sick to-day....
PELLEAS.
Oh! oh! take care! take care! Melisande!... Melisande!...--Oh! your
hair!...
MELISANDE _(starting upright)._ I cannot,... I cannot reach it....
PELLEAS.
Your hair dipped in the water....
MELISANDE.
Yes, it is longer than my arms.... It is longer than I.... [_A silence._
PELLEAS.
It was at the brink of a spring, too, that he found you?
MELISANDE.
Yes....
PELLEAS.
What did he say to you?
MELISANDE.
Nothing;--I no longer remember....
PELLEAS.
Was he quite near you?
MELISANDE.
Yes; he would have kissed me.
PELLEAS.
And you would not?
MELISANDE.
No.
PELLEAS.
Why would you not?
MELISANDE.
Oh! oh! I saw something pass at the bottom of the water....
PELLEAS.
Take care! take care!--You will fall! What are you playing with?
MELISANDE.
With the ring he gave me....
PELLEAS.
Take care; you will lose it....
MELISANDE.
No, no; I am sure of my hands....
PELLEAS.
Do not play so, over so deep a water....
MELISANDE.
My hands do not tremble.
PELLEAS.
How it shines in the sunlight I--Do not throw it so high in the
air....
MELISANDE.
Oh!...
PELLEAS.
It has fallen?
MELISANDE.
It has fallen into the water!...
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