'he Pipe of Desire and Other Plays. By George Edward Barton Class _ <^3M. Book >J TO C0|)\TiglltX° noA COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE PIPE OF DESIRE THE PIPE OF DESIRE AND OTHER PLAYS BY GEORGE EDWARD BARTON BOSTON THE OLD CORNER BOOK STORE, INC, I905 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY GEORGE EDWARD BARTON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 3 <& * ^ LIBRARY of C0N6RESsJ Two Copies Received I NOV 27 1905 Copyriftrt Entry ICUvis £*. XXe, No. D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON TO FREDERICK S. CONVERSE WHO HAS SET IT TO MUSIC THE PIPE OF DESIRE IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED The Pipe of Desire CONTENTS PAGE I The Sewing Machine 23 The Image of God 35 The Thing to be Done 45 There is a God whose laws unchanging No one may hope to disobey. Man's own desires forced upon the ordained way* He for a moment triumphs, He has his will, He pays the penalty. CHARACTERS i o l a n J peasant naoia His betrothed the old-one Keeper of 'the Pipe the elves [mixed Chorus, with four gnomes, sylphs, undines secondary solo voices] AND SALAMANDERS THE PIPE OF DESIRE Ocene. A level spot covered with grass and flooded with sun- shine. At the rear lies a boulder, beyond which one sees the great trees of an ancient forest, a ravine, and a distant valley with a suggestion of human habitation. It is the first day of spring. A dozen of the elves are bustling about and working merrily. One has seeds in a sack which he passes to another, who, standing on the boulder, scatters them to the winds ; others are removing dead leaves from the flowers, and with their breath melting the last frost. elves The fallow field lies in the sun, The waters are rising through the woods, And the bright morning, Which yesterday smiled upon the white coverlet Of sleeping nature, Now gives with each breath New life to the little folk Of earth and air. The fawn sees with wonder The dry twigs become green ; And the old bear, uprearing, Yawns with yearning. Even the stones, Freed by the flying frost, Roll joyfully into the valley. 2nd elf An old bullfrog down by the rock [undine] Had terrified the little brook, And filled her with dismay ; I caught him by his trailing leg, And for her pardon made him beg, And taught her how, in play, To toss him in a waterfall, To imitate his sombre call And, laughing, glide away. i 3RD elf I found the great oak still a-sleeping, [sal am.] But from his side a Dryad peeping; E'er she to his dull heart returned, My kiss on her ripe lips had burned. She vanished at my hot embrace, But left her spirit in her place, And every glad branch straight did fling Its first buds out to welcome spring. elves Every year our work completed Nearer brings the peace of God. [ The voice of\ olanw heard singing in the distance; it grows louder as he approaches} A man ! Singing ! So soon ? With hope and victory ! While yet the snow lies in the pass ! 'T is Iolan, he who lives below ! Throughout the winter he has toiled To earn a home for his betrothed. 4.TH elf [mischievously] When he comes let us roll great stones upon him. Nay, Iolan ever has been kind to us. Pelt him, then, with these soft clods of earth. Poor payment that for all the food and fire He hath so often set for us. 'Tis but in play — to tease him. Better a gift for him and Naoia. This jewel then. Who has the purchase for his home, Who feels the might of his strong arm, Who has the love of the loved one, Him doth a jewel hinder. 4-TH ELF 3RD ELF 4-TH ELF 2ND ELF 4-TH ELF 2ND ELF I ST ELF 2ND ELF 4-TH ELF 2ND ELF 4-TH ELF I ST ELF 4-TH ELF 3RD ELF sylphs Let us all sing as he goes by & sals. To cheer him on his way. Or call him — Dance him in a fairy ring, And prove our friendship. GNOMES & UNDINES What, show ourselves ? SYLPHS & SALAMANDERS What harm can be in that ? iolan [below] If a knight were I with a sword of steel I would fight for a golden crown. 4.TH elf [calling] Iolan ! 3rd elf Oh ! Io- 2nd elf Oh Ian ! 1st elf Iolan ! gnomes Nay, nay, call not. undines It is forbidden. iolan [below] Who calls ? 3RD ELF Ho ! Io- 2nd elf Ho Ian ! I st elf Iolan ! [ The old-one enters] old-one What is this madness? Ye well know it is forbidden To show ourselves to man. iolan [below] Hello — above there — Who called? old-one It is forbidden! 3rd elf Not on the first day of spring, our day; We call but to requite his kindness. old-one It is not wise to violate an ancient law; No good can come of it. [iolan enters from behind the boulder ; the elves all hide] iolan My ears so ring with my own joy 3 I fancy all the trees call me by name. [He sees the elves stealing out from behind the trees] I dream ! 1st elf If that be so, sleep peacefully, Iolan. For we be good dreams, Meant only for more perfect rest. iolan It is the wood-folk ! 4-th elf Of whom your friendliness Hath made good friends. iolan Ah, friends who have been ever dear to me E'en though unseen, how much more Now that you deign to show yourselves. [elves dance around him in a ring] all [except the old -one, who sits sadly at one side] We '11 keep the frost from off your vine, The tempest to the hills we '11 send, Our willing hands will provide For loving hearts which confide, And governing all, To the confident call We will of Flame, flood, earth, air, Grant joy To all men who can trust In our good will. iolan See, here is the money I have earned To buy my farm. To-morrow Naoia I shall wed, And to the feast you all are bidden. old -one Even my old head must wonder At the laws I have to keep. iolan Have years, then, killed all your joy? Are you alone no friend to me ? old-one A friend regrets the recklessness of friends, 4 It is forbidden us to show ourselves to man. Alas, of it no good can come. iolan No harm can come of it, Believe one who has travelled far. I '11 not report whate'er you do, And will in secret prove my faith. old-one It is not given me to see the harm. Alas, of it no good can come. iolan Who is this, gloomy on the gladdest day Of spring ? ist elf The mightiest of all. 4.TH elf [with great reverence] The Old-One. iolan Your king! Oh — oh, you mock me. 2nd elf Nay, nay, we mock not. 4-th elf He is the Old-One. iolan Where are his crown and sceptre then, Where is his purse of gold ? old-one Ten thousand years of life, my crown, The earth, my purse of gold; This Pipe which hangs about my neck The sceptre of the world. iolan My goat-horn could be heard Ten times as far; I '11 give it you, And so increase your empire, i st elf Nay, jest not at the Pipe. iolan Of what use is it, save to make you dance? 3rd elf The Dance! The Dance! [The call of" The Dance" is taken up first by one, then another, then in semi-chorus. It becomes more and more insistent (musically ), and the elves in great excitement call others who are not yet on the stage] 5 4-th elf Well, on this first day of spring He plays for us to dance. ist elf The Dance! The Dance! o l d - o n e What task has fate in store for me to-day ? You 're mad — I will not play While he is here ! undines The Dance! The Dance! 3RD elf But you must on this first day Play when we ask. It is the law. sylphs The Dance ! The Dance ! 4TH elf Else do our spirits bubbling o'er Fly to the winds. sals. We claim the Dance ! old-one Pause! wait until Iolan has gone, Then will I play so wonderful a tune That all the hills shall join. all The Dance ! The Dance ! old-one Oh, evil hour! It is your right. [ The old-one plays a weird tune. From every side come the gnomes and sylphs,/^ undines and salamanders. The sky becomes overcast, but in a soft green light /^undines begin a sinu- ous gliding dance. The colour gradually changes as the others enter. They dance madly, laughing and shouting for joy. iolan, sitting on a log, watches them with amusement] undines We from the waters gently rise, Turning the thirsting meadows green ; From waters rise, Meadows soothing. sals. Raise our burning, Raise our burning now. undines Let me be with him! Let me be with him ! sals. Swirl and flare in our power, Writhe and leap in our glory, Burning clear. undines Flowing still, flowing still, We will bring a gift to thee. sylphs Ah, the rapture ! Ah, all nature, Comes to join us, Now assign us Each her duty. Ah, the rapture, Dancing in our glee ! Floating, Floating. undines Come flame a-high, & sals. Come now a-flowing. We dance, a gift to bring thee. Dancing in our glee ! solo sylph Far over heaven, all floating, we soar. Glorify the Power ! SOLO UNDINE Ah, the freedom ! gnomes Up from out the earth we come To join thee. all Up and down and round We will dance gaily, Flaming, floating, In our pleasure, Flowing, running, To thy measure, To the wondrous music Of the Pipe's great magic. Wonderful Power, We follow thy call. Hear it ! Hear it ! 7 Dancing in our bower. Ha ha ha ha ha ! Up and down and round, Laughing, singing, In our glee. Laughing we go dancing — Round and round we go. All of heaven, All of water, All of nature, Greets thee, Hails thee, Obeys thee. Ha ha ha ha ha ! Dance to spring ! [ The song ends in a burst of riotous joy, during which most of the elves dance off into the woods] 4.TH elf Do you believe now In the power of the Pipe ? iolan Another would have served as well For those who wished to dance. 4.TH elf Ay, but it could even make you dance. iolan There is no power in earth or heaven To make me dance, or wish to dance, Save with my bride. 4.TH elf He jeers at us ! 3rd elf Scoffs at our Pipe! both Now make him dance. old-one I beg of you, my children — iolan I will allow it is as much a magic pipe As he who begs is king. I who have earned my home, What cause have I to fear your power ? Ha ! ha ! In my own hand Lies all that I desire ! old -one Man's power is a fearsome thing, And you say well He holds it in his hand. You 've won from a world you understood ; Look lest you lose, Through what you fail to see. elves He denies our Pipe ! Now he must dance ! Dance, Iolan, dance ! iolan I '11 put my strength and love Against your Pipe and Power. old -one [sadly] Ah well, then — dance. iolan I will not ! [ The o l d - o n e plays j and iolan vainly endeavours to keep from dancing] iolan I feel its charm. It is a magic Pipe ! I will not dance ! Stop, stop, I say ! I will not dance ! elves [all laughing] Dance, Iolan, dance! iolan [dancing madly] False friends, I have forsworn myself. Stop, stop, I say ! A curse upon your Pipe ! [He snatches the Pipe from the o l d -o n e, breaking the cord. The elves all cry out in terror, and are then silent] iolan How now, old king, Your feet must win your sceptre back. old -one Pause, Iolan. When in an evil hour You were called here, 'T was that my children meant you well : Do you want power, gold or wine, We '11 give it you ; But blow not on the Pipe : It is forbidden. 9 iolan Think you that / then fear this little thing. 1st elf Iolan, it is a sacred Pipe. all Listen. old-one 'Tis the Pipe God gave to Lilith, And she played to man in Eden, But its charm was rent by woman ; Now we play its potent music That those in solitude may hear, And continue, restless, wandering, Searching ever. iolan I '11 keep the tale To tell to children. elves Beware! ist elf Hear first the curse God laid upon it. old-one Let thy tune, now sad, now merry, Wax and wane with every breath ; Let the joy of love's beginning Blend into the chant of death. Let the mortal who dares play thee Without knowledge of thy mood, Pale in terror at thy meaning, And die when he has understood. iolan Think you the story Frightens breath Out of a breast like mine ? [He blows a harsh, discordant note] [At the sound of the Pipe the sun suddenly becomes o bs cured, and in an unearthly darkness all the elves vanish with a loud cry. As the old-one turns to fly, iolan, with a mocking laugh, catches him and rolls a stone upon his cloak, from which he vainly endeavours to free himself] elves [flying through the forest] Oh ! Oh ! 10 Misery — I burn — Fly, fly ! Beware — Beware — iolan [blows again] A pest upon it ! I cannot play this Pipe. \_Another discord] Ah, that I could play the strain Which rises now within my soul. old- one Ah, misery. [iolan plays a beautiful theme. He repeats it, and drops the Pipe. His eyes become fixed upon a vision which rises before him] iolan It is the strain I heard within my soul. What glorious vision this before me rising ! The picture of my utmost wish appears ; Like a curtain the forest around me parts, And the peaceful valley lies before. There are the meadows won by my toil, There, even now I see myself tilling them, Strong horses I drive, And beyond, graze my goats and kine. My harvesters sing as they work, And my soul rejoices in the produci of my strength. I raise my steaming face In thanksgiving to the sun As he drops behind the hills. Through the purple twilight I seek my rest. There, from that clump of verdure, Rises the smoke from my hearth, My children play before my door, My wife — my Naoia — Comes to me thro' the roses, And love folds around me Its soft mantle of repose. Naoia, my Naoia ! Why do I linger here ? Naoia, my Naoia ! Do you not hear me call ? [With great passion] Leave all, leave all — and come to me. [// becomes light again, the old -one recovers the Pipe, and frees himself] old-one "Tis done. [iolan turns to go] Nay, listen. Ah, heedless one, The Pipe but played The note of your desire, And your desire helps To rule the world. Listen again, And see what you have done. \^At the first note of the pipe iolan stops, and again the vision appears. The old-one sits motionless at one side] iolan Again the magic spell is o'er me stealing, All is dark ! My Naoia's cottage ! Within, see Naoia ! But she lies upon her bed, Her mother in her anguish Kneels there in silent prayer. Is she then dead? Ah, nay, nay, she smiles, And they leave her all alone. She thinks of me, And smiling sweetly, sleeps. Now she hears my voice ! Calling, as I just called to her To come to me. She rises from her bed ! She will obey my voice ! Stop, Naoia, stop ! Ah, do not come ! Across the fields she runs, — Her bare feet bleed, And fever blazes on her cheeks. Return, return, beloved ! She breathes my name, And now the forest dark receives her. See, see ! she falls ! The cruel stones have cut her head, Her thin robe by the thorns is torn. She fords the icy stream ! She scales the rock ! Oh, Naoia ! You are in delirium, And I — I did not know! [Enter naoia. Her thin clothing is torn, her feet are bare and her forehead is bleeding\ Across the world I heard you call, beloved ; I have come. Fool that I was, I 've brought this suffering On your sweet body. Ah, Naoia, how could I, Who love you so, 13 Thro' heedlessness Cause such misfortune ! I did not know ! naoia Over the hill-top at early dawn The wind, like a young man, came. The wind is a friend to those who love, And he sang of your return. My mother sat by my bedside, And read from the holy book — Heaven have mercy, I only heard Your voice, as you, singing, journeyed on, Homeward — and thought of me. Suddenly as the holy bells Ring when God draws nigh, I heard you call to me to come. And so, sweetheart, I came. iolan Had I but known, beloved, I would have spared you all this agony. naoia Save that you shall cease to love me, There is no pain I fear. So long have I waited, The pressure of your hand Is like the culmination of a dream, Which shortly fading, Will leave another bond Endearing sleep. Ah, hold me closer, Iolan ; You '11 leave me nevermore, Say that it is so. Why do you look at me With tearful eyes ? And yet, so tenderly, I oft have wept In thinking of this day. 14 This day, The first of all the endless days to come Of our great joy. Iolan ! Ah, Iolan, Say that it is so ! iolan I '11 never leave you more. naoia [delirious] See, Iolan, all the roses have come out To dance upon our wedding-day. Here 's one for you. And every, every day You shall have one For just a kiss. Ah, Iolan, Is it too dear ? iolan Naoia! naoia We have not lost a single lamb, And see, how sturdy little Iolan is, Your son and mine. Like this on every evening We will sit within our bower, And watch him as he grows to manhood, Grows up to honest manhood, husband. iolan Yea, little wife. naoia From the world you bring me all you Ve won. iolan All that I 've won is but your faith reflected. naoia My faith is but your strength revealed. iolan My strength would fail without your hope's in- centive. naoia My hope is but a knowledge of your will. iolan All that is dear in life you are expressing. naoia Naught to express have I save love of you. iolan Then by one kiss we cease to be divided. naoia Then by one kiss we both shall be united. J 5 iolan My life's salvation lies in love of you. naoia My soul's salvation lies in love of you. \S he falls exhausted] naoia And when old age comes trembling on Years, years, years hence, We will hold each other's hands As we do now, And as we used before you went away. Oh, Iolan, do not go away. Oh, hold me closer, closer, dear ; Without you it is dark, And I am cold, so cold. [She dies] iolan Naoia, Naoia, little wife! See, dearest, I will hold you close ! The fire of my love Shall keep you warm ! Ah, dearest — Naoia ! Speak to me ! Your eyes ! Naoia ! Ah, my God, she 's dead ! elves [from the depths of the fores i\ See how in agony Iolan bends o'er her, She who but yesterday Was in full flower — He who an hour since Revelled in power. old-one I wonder at the laws Which I must keep. iolan I smooth the hair back from your brow, So you would have done for me When I was weary, — You who were as music on the waters. 16 It has vanished, all that wondrous realm In which I used to lose myself As a dream is lost Within the depths of sleep. You were she for whom alone I laboured. Were there no others Who could not love as we have loved, That God should let you die And leave me dead ? You were she who was to bear me children. Where is this God ? Where dwellethHe? For I would take Him in my hands And throttle Him. You God, if you have heard me on my knees Give thanks for every pittance Won by reeking toil, See, as I hurl the gold you Ve turned to lead Back in your mocking face, And hear me curse you ! No, fool, there is no God, And — I am all alone. old-one There is a God whose laws unchanging No man may hope to disobey. Upon His Pipe you blew your one desire, Forced your own will upon the ordained way. Man has his will, Man pays the penalty. iolan It was I who killed her? You cursed imp Sent by some fiend to mar All my life's happiness ! 17 This unjust punishment Is without reason. You shall now render My price for vengeance. old-one Strike, Iolan, if you think Her soul demands revenge. iolan She was a beam from heaven. She would forgiveness show. My staff I throw away, I '11 do what she would do. elves [nearer] Lo, her death purifies. Gone is his wilfulness : He becomes more strong. iolan I saw a flower by the roadside, And rested. It reminded me of her, So pale and pure it was. I plucked it and put it in my cap, And thought of her. At twilight I went again to rest, And think of her — The stalk was bare, And in my cap The flower had faded. elves [peering from behind the rocks and trees] [semi- We in our day of spring, chorus] Hoping to give him joy, Have brought him misery. old-one Thoughtless ye ever were Of human weakness. elves Play, then, on this our day [semi- The old song of winter, chorus] That he may see the way All things must wither. 18 old- one Mindful ye ever are Of God's great goodness. [He plays the song of autumn; the light fades until at the end the stage is dark] iolan Now suddenly The new-born spring Trembles with terror, And the cloak of nature In sombre brown appears ; I hear the moaning of the winter wind. elves Already the summer wanes, And yearning autumn Feels the chill of age. iolan Fast and faster, With awful stillness, Like the panther The cold creeps on. The jewels which shone So beautiful in sunlight Under gray clouds Mock me for believing in their value. I cried aloud, In my strength will I go, With the might of my arm I will earn my home, And return to her ; But the spring is dead. The frozen buds — How can they open without her? Or the brook sing again If she may not hear ? The forest is deserted ; The world with wrinkled face Can weep no more. 19 elves The winter was never yet too cold For the dead to sleep in peace, The snow was never deep enough To prevent the spring's release. iolan The Pipe is soothing me to sleep — Why should I ever rise? — All that I lived for Lying here. Like an old man Whose life is spent, My hand trembles, But my heart moves not. [He sinks down beside the body o/naoia] 5th elf Such ones who die too soon Spring they then up again ? 2nd elf Far they who die for love — old-one They have accomplished. 3rd elf Then all is not amiss — old -one Nothing is wasted. iolan The leaves fall softly from the trees, Dead, before dropping, like my old desires. Not among men I lost — [A bright light suddenly illumines the scene, iolan springs to his feet. A glad burst of music] 'T was in myself I failed. Naoia ! It is not cold ! [He sees n aoi a' s form above him, as a vision] [He falls, dead] elves Nothing is wasted. CURTAIN THE SEWING MACHINE CHARACTERS f o l a n A consumptive peter A simple fellow krantz A middle-aged man A DEAF MUTE rachel A young girl mother ann An old woman maggie An errand girl time. Seven o'clock on a winter morning place. The City THE SEWING MACHINE ucene. A dingy room in a tenement bouse. On the wall at either side of the entry door, at the rear, are pegs, upon which hang half-finished garments of the cheapest quality. At the left, looking out upon an area, is a small window, upon the sill of which stands a potted geranium. At the right, beside a cold stove, is a box con- taining a little coal and a few pieces of waste wood. Six sewing machines stand about the room; the one used by peter so placed as to allow him a view out of the window. Until the very end of the play the rumble of one or more of the machines is heard. krantzw discovered sewing at his machine. After a moment maggie enters, blue with cold, and begins to build a fire. krantz What are you doing? maggie There has to be a fire to-day. krantz There has to be no fire to-day! maggie Rachel said — krantz There'll be no fire. How can you get more coal with a foot of snow on the ground and the dump frozen stiff"? Where 's the thread ? maggie The shop ain't open yet. krantz Why did n't you get it last night? maggie It was closed before I got through last night. krantz Go get it. Waste all day running up and down stairs ! [Exit maggie] rachel [outside] Oh, do be careful! maggie [outside] I'm awful sorry, Rachel, honest I am. [Enter rachel carrying a dipper of water] rachel You spilled half of it ! krantz What's that for? rachel The flower. 23 k r a ntz Ha, ha. All the way upstairs ? Ain't the pail water good enough? rachel To wash in, I suppose. The flower is bigger this morning. Some in the gardens are big as my two hands. I hope this will be a pretty one. [krantz keeps on at work, rachel, after hanging up her poor jacket, rubs her hands and sits down at her machine. She stares absently at the geranium for a moment, then with a sigh begins to work. The deaf mute enters with a hoarse cry of welcome, and goes at once to work, and, as his face is turned away from the rest, the sound of his machine con- tinues uninterruptedly throughout the scene, peter enters] peter There has to be irons to-day, why not a fire? rachel I told Maggie — krantz And I told her not. Who'll get more when that coal is gone ? We '11 have a fire when we need it. peter Your temper '11 warm us up. Ha-ha-ha-ha. krantz Shut up, you fool. peter [looking out of the window] She 's not there yet. [Enter mother ann, panting for breath] ann Oh, those stairs! peter Go slow, old woman. Your heart will go all bumpity some day. Crack ! You die. ann Yes, yes, some day. [She throws off her shawl, and sits down at her machine] rachel How are you this morning, Mother Ann? ann Very nicely, very nicely, my dear. I'm always very nicely — for an old woman. peter [looking out of the window] She has n't come yet. rachel Folan is late to-day. krantz It's the first time in five years. You're late often enough. 24 peter Five years. It was just five years ago that she first came to the window opposite. ann God grant Folan finds his woman soon — else 't will be too late. rachel How rapidly he sinks ! peter Is he hunting for a woman? krantz What else would a fool like him hunt for every night, for year after year ? peter Once I asked him. He got so mad, I stopped. Ha-ha-ha. rachel Is she his wife? peter I'll ask him. krantz You don't dare to. ann Have done, have done ! peter She has not come yet. [Enter folan. He takes off his muffler in silence, and staggers to his machine] peter What luck, Folan? Did you find her last night? folan No, not yet, not yet. But I found some one so like her that just for a moment I felt — as I shall always feel — when I do find her. Ah — mind your own business ! krantz Ha, ha. f o l an [dropping his head in his hands, and coughing] Oh — h. rachel You don't feel well this morning, Folan. folan What — Oh, it is cold. Yes, so — ha, ha, only the sharp — the sharp air, yes, but it strengthens me, little one. [He starts his machine] peter You've got money saved; you can get a coat like mine — a good one — for a dollar. folan It is not that. I am always warm, yes, quite warm. I was late. I could not get my tea this morning. I was out — last night. 25 ann 'Tis no good to do so, Folan ; you save nothing. folan I save, yes, I save. peter There she is — there she is. folan She? rachel The girl across the way, that's all. folan Oh, yes — that's all. peter She must have a fire in her room, for her sleeves are rolled up. [He begins to whistle] krantz Shut up, you fool. folan Why shouldn't he be happy? He has his happi- ness before him. krantz What good does it do him? rachel He might marry her. peter Why not? krantz Ha, ha, you fool. Folan here will talk of marriage next. peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. folan Why do you laugh ? peter You get married? folan I have sixty dollars in the bank, and no one knows where I have hid the book. krantz What would a woman want with you? folan Why . . . why, I . . . ann For his good heart. krantz It will spoil the sixty dollars to put it in a coffin. peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. rachel Oh — folan But I am not going to die ! krantz Maybe not. ann Have done, man, he 's not himself to-day. krantz Drunk last night most likely. peter She's singing. I can see her lips — singing while she works. Now, is she not a merry one ? folan She was — always so merry. 26 FOLAN RACHEL PETER FOLAN krantz Ha, ha. rachel He means the girl across the way, Folan. Oh, yes — the girl across the way. Does she look pretty this morning, Peter? She is beautiful, and she pounds and pounds with her strong hands on the stamp, and sings — I could sing, too. Damn you ! She comes to you and stays all day be- fore you while you work. And I — I may not find her, and I search all night, year after year. Oh, it is not fair, it is not fair. peter Aye, Folan, it's too bad ! But come and see her ! The sight of her will cheer you up — as she stands there and sings. I Ve asked you often and you'll never come — no, never ! folan What's your happiness to me? It's my own I'm looking for. But it's always the night that's all inside of me — ann Perhaps yours, too, is close at hand. rachel Yes, you may have seen her often and not known her. krantz Ha, ha. folan Not know her ! Not know little Zelda ! Why, her cottage was yellow and all spotted by the storms. Yes, one spot we called the Turk ; it used to frighten her, and I would punch it, so, and so, with my little hands. Ha, ha — and there was always bread and butter, too, for us ; and we could eat, I tell you, after we had been romping in the fields, chasing the swallows that lived in little holes there in the cliffs, and watching the white sails of ships that sailed and sailed and al- ways sailed so temptingly — to here. ann Have done — have done ! 27 folan They had a cow also. krantz And money lay around in little piles. folan I do not lie. I own now the farm there, yes — should I go back. peter She's just looked over here. [He whistles] folan My mother — she is there still. But she is old — yes — very old. She used to take me — so — and pat my head. krantz Oh, go to work. peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. ann Ah, Folan, why do you not go back ? If she is old, she longs to take you again within her arms and pat your head once more — before she dies. folan Yes, yes, soon I will go. rachel And you would find her there perhaps, she who would love you. folan No, no — First I find her. Then we go back, yes, — I have sixty dollars in the bank, no one knows where I have hid the book. I promised her there — with the chickens all around. peter Ah, chickens ! folan They must have heard. peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. rachel And did she promise too? folan Yes, too; and I came here — to earn my fortune. krantz Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. folan Ha-ha-ha-ha — yes, that is funny. To make my fortune — Christ ! rachel But why do you seek her here? folan Here! here! Yes. Great God in heaven, did I not make my fortune ? Did I not save two hun- dred dollars in a year ? I did not know the speech, then. I went to a man, a. countryman — 28 a friend of mine — [he spits on the floor] He was going home, he would bring her back to me. He swore it ! Damn his cursed soul, he swore it! rachel But she would not trust him? folan She would have trusted any one to get to me. peter Ha-ha-ha-ha. folan I — I was not like this — then. Listen, I gave him money — yes, half his own travel money, too. krantz And never saw him again. folan He brought her back. Yes. She was beautiful, he wanted her, but she did not love him. krantz Ha, ha. How do you know? folan Yes, I do know. But listen. I did not meet the ship. I did not know when they would come. The police, they frightened her; they say, "Where is your husband?" My "friend," he tell her," Say that I am he, or they will send you back; then we will find Folan." And so he took her off with him. Yes, I did wait and wait, month after month. At last I did hear that they had come. Then I did hunt and hunt and hunt. At last I found them. They were together in his room. She was by the stove cooking his food. God ! yes, and I was hungry. I walked into the room. They did not say a word, only she dropped her spoon and made a little moan. I smell the grease now that fell and burned. I said " What did you with my Zelda ? " " Look," he said, " she is no good. Take her and go away." When I saw her big with his child, then there was blood all around. I ran my dagger through and through and through 29 his rotten back. Then I beat her, yes, I beat my Zelda with my hands. I rubbed her face then in his blood — yes, in his blood — and went away. krantz Sch — sch — Don't talk so loud. folan Oh, do not fear. Then they arrested me. Yes. He did not die. I heard her tell her story to the judge. They would not let me speak to her. When I got out of prison, "Yes," I said, "now I will find her." I had no money, but I begged — I thieved, then I was weak. I was not fit for her. Now I am strong. Yes — now I work all day. At night I hunt, I hunt — oh, yes, I hunt for her. And the night it loves me, for all inside of me is now full of the night ; and all the other night, that fills the world, when I go out rushes to meet me and pours itself all into me to join that which is here. And all the time I hunt, I hunt ; yes — even in those places, for may she not be there ? What else for her to do ? And I, did I not send here there — do I not love her still? And I have sixty dollars in the bank, and no one knows where I have hid the book. Then we will go back, just her and me and my old mother — she pats me on my head — like this. [Enter m aggie with an armful of clothes\ maggie Say, Rosenski says these clothes are no good — sew 'em over. Here 's yer thread ! krantz They 's Folan's. rachel No — they are mine. ann Have done, child. Give them here. peter Look at him! He's spitting blood! ann 'Twas bound to come. rachel Here, Peter, give him air, krantz Oh, how can a man work — 30 ann Man, he's dying. krantz Dying ? nothing ! rachel Maggie, here, get him some brandy. [Exit maggie] peter Sit in my chair. How funny blue you look. ann Don't talk like that — give me his head. peter See, Folan, see the sun! [A ray of sunlight comes in through the window. rachel moves the plant into it] rachel Look, Folan, see the flower. Ain't it pretty? ann That's right. peter Look, Folan, over there is where she works — she will come soon. And you have never seen her. folan The night is all inside. What is she to me? peter The sight of her would cheer you up. See ! There she is ! Is she not beautiful ? [folan looks slowly round, following peter' sfnger. He rises from the chair, and tries to speak, rachel drops on the floor, and covers her face with her hands] ann Oh, Mother of God ! folan See ! Let me get up ! Ah, ah . . . Zelda ! Let me go, you dog ! Yes, you love her and you '11 hold me, will you ? And she 's been there for years, and you have kept her to yourself. You . . . [he strangles] ann For the love of Heaven, Krantz, go get her. Man, don't you see ? — she is the girl across the way. krantz Oh, he is crazy! She can't be the one! Do you suppose — ann Well, what if she is not? Go bring her here. krantz [rising] How can a man earn his living with everything . . . [Exit] folan Yes, yes, I knew that you would come, and I have 3 1 sixty dollars in the bank for you and me. And I will pound the Turk's head for you over there. No, no, no, I will not, no — dear God ! I did not mean to kill him. Zelda, why do you turn away? Zelda! Did you not forgive me when I went away ? I thought the great white ships that always sailed and sailed so temptingly would bring me back to you. I only wanted you. They kept me from you, Zelda; they want you too ; they would keep me with the night always within me. She 's talking to a man ! And he is taking her away with him, — see, and she looks at me ! She does not want to go with him ! Let me get up ! I say, let me get up ! See, see, he 's taken her away — my happiness — my happiness. peter I tried to make him look at her, oh, many times, and he would not — r no — never. ann Have done, have done! folan And I have sixty dollars in the bank — just you and me — and my old mother — she used to hold me — so, and pat my head — Ach . . . ch. [He dies'] ann Like this, like this. Oh, my poor boy, my boy, my boy. [The deaf mute, who has turned around a mo- ment before, gives a loud inarticulate cry of hor- ror, and rushes out] CURTAIN THE IMAGE OF GOD THE IMAGE OF GOD IN the land of Kaf, in the city of Kavan, dwelt a man whose name was Klan. On that day when his years were twoscore and ten, he knelt before the image of his God and ad- dressed it, saying, I took Thee, a stone out of my father's field; with mine own hands did I fashion Thee into the crude shape which Thou still bearest, the shape of that God which is God. These many years have I sacrificed before Thee, and of whatsoever I had, a part of that also did I offer Thee. And thou hast made the earth to open under my labour and the richness thereof to reward my toil: from my vine has sprung a vineyard, and my sheep have an hundred shepherds. Now, that I may not seem unthankful in Thy sight, behold and bless this which I purpose for Thy glory. A large stone will I take, and my hands shall fash- ion it into an image worthy of Thy greatness. And the face of it shall be of ivory, and the robe of it shall be of gold. Of fine gold shall be its hair, and bright sapphires its eyes. Its heart shall be a ruby, and diamonds shall crown its intellect: that all who behold my image shall prostrate themselves before it, saying, There is no God like unto the God of Klan. And Klan arose and went into the fields and found a stone, and the stone was large and shaped like unto a man whose soul wanders in the third heaven. So he worked diligently, and as his hands moved, 35 so moved his heart also, and his eyes were opened, and he saw that the stone which he had chosen was no larger than himself: and he reproached himself, saying, Surely the God which made me rich and power- ful is larger than I am myself. So he cast aside that stone, and sought another. Many stones both large and sound found Klan of Kavan, yet did he reject them all. Then began his wanderings from place to place, from them that were near at hand unto them that were afar off. And though he found stones, each larger than the other, yet none found favour in his sight as worthy to embody the greatness of his God. And he was sore distressed, and he took from his script the old image of his God, and he prayed again before it, saying, O God who art God, look down upon my misery. For my bones are fettered by fatigue, and de- spondency sleeps on my spirit. The memory of my fire vanishes before the cold wind, and my belly cries aloud for the food of my herdsmen. He who did judge the disputes of the elders is be- come alone in the wilderness: he who welcomed the stranger is become a wanderer without habitation. All these things I have renounced for Thee; wherefor hast Thou turned Thy face from me ? Did I not tell Thee the cause of my travels, and did I not set out to Thee the reason for my labour ? Mayhap Thou thinkest me a boaster. Mayhap Thou doubtest me within Thy heart, and sayest, How shall Klan carve even the great stones which 36 he has seen, for shall he not grow old, like other men, and die? But that which I have promised Thee shall be performed. With my riches I will hire workmen, and my power shall enforce slaves. The wilderness about the rock shall become a city, and the outskirts thereof a strong fortress, that it may come to pass as I have promised. Then let the finger of Thy wisdom point out the path of my destination, for all that Thou showest me of Thy greatness, that shall be graven upon the stone to be a monument to Thee before all men forever. Now a sudden darkness arose from the earth ob- scuring all things, so that Klan could not see the image to which he prayed. And he seized the image in both his hands, and fear closed the channels of his speech. And he raised his eyes, and, lo, he was upon a great plain which spread out before him endlessly. And there came a voice from heaven as of a mighty trumpet, as of a hundred brazen trumpets before the king, saying, O Klan, turn thee about. And Klan turned himself about, and before him he saw a high mountain, as it were a pyramid reach- ing to the sky, and the height of it was greater than all the mountains on the earth. And upon the mountain as upon a footstool, he beheld the figure of an angel sitting. The feet of the angel were upon the plain, and his head reached into the higher heaven. 37 And the angel had great wings, and the tips of the wings stretched beyond the horizon at either side. And the wings of the angel were like unto clouds at sunrise, and the face of the angel blazed as with fire, and the radiance thereof was as the dawn. And the angel smiled upon Klan, and said, Come hither. Here is a stone worthy to be carved into thy image of God. And the angel disappeared, and Klan with joy of heart journeyed towards the mountain. But when he had come unto it, the mountain seemed not so large, and he thought that it but ob- scured a higher peak beyond: and he began to climb the mountain. Now as he climbed he heard a soft voice calling to him from below, and he paused and answered, saying, Here am I. Who art thou ? And the voice said, We are the earth. And Klan said, What would ye ? And the earth said, Carve us into thy image of God. And when Klan had pondered for a time he said, So be it. Now when he came to the top of the mountain he saw a vast plain which extended in all directions equally. And four rivers crossed the plain in four direc- tions, flowing from the rock on which he stood. And the four rivers called to him, saying, We be the four rivers which flow out from the source, yea, even unto the uttermost oceans of ob- scurity. And Klan said, What would ye ? 38 And the waters said, Carve us also into thy image of God. Now from every side around the mountain rushed great herds of animals, each with its kind. The wild horse and the elephant shook the ground with their tramping, the antelope and the bullock drummed the plain with their hoofs. And the air became sud- denly full of birds, all the birds of the air in great clouds circled about his head. And the sky was full of their flying, and the heavens were obscured by the multitude of their wings: and they flew round and round the earth above the animals upon the plain. In an opposite direction flew they, and as they flew they sang. And lightnings writhed around the rock on which Klan stood: and he felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. And the mountain, as it were a tree, grew under him, bearing him aloft and higher and higher above the earth. Now he saw the dense forests which lie beyond the plains, and the oceans which lie beyond the for- ests, and the mountains which lie beyond the oceans. And Klan heard the voice of all these also calling him, and his heart grew faint within him. But the mountain grew on beneath him, and raised him still higher. And the birds were far beneath him, and their flight was like unto a great disk spinning below. Still the mountain grew under him, and Klan passed through the veil of clouds which shield the earth from the great light, up into the realm of stars. And the glory of the heavens lay around him, and the stars like fierce globes of fire flew about him, and 39 as he left them below him, they all called to him, saying, Put us also into thy image of God. And the veil of heaven was rent asunder, And the brightness of the sun paled before the greater glory, and Klan saw the spirits of all them who have life, ascending and descending from hea- ven: those which have died saw he them, and those which are not yet born. And their number was that of the leaves in spring- time, their number was that of the snows in winter, and the quickness of their flight was as of eagles falling. All these, too, as with one voice called to him, and their voices joined those of the stars, and from below arose all the other voices. With that of the deep mingled the voice of le- viathan. With the sound of the tempest came the song of the souls. And the clouds and the lightnings, and the whirl- wind and the forest, and the beasts and the comets, and the birds and earthquake, all joined the first call of the earth, and cried out — Klan! And Klan wrung his hands together in anguish, and answered in terror, What would ye ? And they with one voice answered and said, Put us also into thy image of God. And again the angel stood before Klan. And the feet of the angel were upon the earth, and the head of him towered far above Klan into the higher heaven. And the eyes of the angel were as thunderclouds, and the sword in his hand like lightnings: and he 40 cried with the voice of the cataract, saying, I am but the least of His messengers, but carve thou me also into thy image of God. And with a great cry the angel smote the heavens from end to end. From the east to the west straight overhead swung he his blazing sword, and vanished. And behold, the firmament fell apart, and Klan stood alone in the immensity of the vast abyss. And there was silence. And there came into the silence a whisper as it were from everywhere, saying, Put me also into thy image of God. And Klan knew that he was before his God, and he took the old image from his script and smote it upon the rock: with the hands that made it did he break the image, and cast it from him. And Klan fell upon his face, and prayed before the God which is God. THE THING TO BE DONE CHARACTERS ALLAND THE COUNT ROMONA VILAIS ILAIA ANTENOR A young man His daughter A princess THE THING TO BE DONE ACT FIRST Ocene. A terrace of the count's castle. At the rear a bal- ustrade, beyond which one sees a fertile valley dotted with farms. In the distance a dense forest, [morning.] vi lais is discovered idly leaning on the balustrade ; ro- mona, seated on a stone bench, is reading a letter. rom on a [reads'] "Jewels burned upon her breast, jewels blazed within her hair ; she wore a crown of glittering gold, two pages held her purple robe, and a marshal walked before. And as I courte- sied, poor little me, before the queen, my mind flew back to thoughts of you and of the dull routine at home. I longed to have you realize for a moment what life is in its reality." Oh, would that I could go to court, could see the men who rule the world and the women whom such men love. Ah, would that I could see the queen ! vi lais She has a mole upon her nose ! romona Vilais ! vi lais Her ankles are thick. She walks like this. romona But still she is the queen ! "Jewels blazed in her hair"! vilais She'd give half her jewels for your hair. romona It is easy for one who knows such life to scoff at gaiety; I was not born a princess. vilais Ah, Romona, they do not always dance who move their leaden feet to music. romona Yes, I suppose great lives must pay great penal- ties ; but trouble is a much maligned mistress, 45 and ofttimes, bringing duty in her train, serves for a cause, a reason, or an excuse for better things. Could you but live my dreary life, — a dull monotonous waste of days, the same eternal rocks and trees, the same eternal sky! What means a life which holds no needs, no joys, no duties, and ... no men ? vi lais But you have needs, for do you not lack men? And you have joy in dreaming of a life exis- tent only in your dreams. Peasants and lands are duties with us both, but in a different scale. And as for men, is there not one in all the coun- try-side ? rom on a Not one. Aye, there is one. He might as well not be. vilais Tell me of him. romona He is a recluse. [She reads] vilais Oh! Who lives there in that house, so far away, which like a plum lies glowing golden in among the green ? romona Some peasant. vilais [looking over the balustrade] What a dear little boy ! Good-morning, little boy. romona [reading] Oh, oh! How beautiful! vilais Won't you please come and talk to me? No? Yet you like me, do you not ? I will throw you down a rose, with — see, this kiss, and you will keep it always for my sake ? Ah, say you will, else my poor heart will break. But, little boy, do not have dusty feet. romona What are you doing? vilais Why, by my eyes, he's run away and left my favour ! 46 romona As well flirt with a gargoyle here ; at least it will return your smile. vi lais Run, run, little friend, though half the realm would fight for that poor rose. Run, little cow- ard ; yet I liked your eyes. Heigh-ho ! romona [reads] "And then he led me to a dark recess and took my hand, and said so tenderly I could not doubt, 'I who am so used to court, and love, and women, before your beauty have lost all the arts of speech, and can but hope that you will understand, believe, and accept my silence as my choicest offering.' " vi la is What did he say? romona "Accept my silence as my choicest offering." vi lais She would do well to do so. romona Does then romantic life wipe romance from your nature ? Where now that spirit which has made you loved and feared and famous, to let you mope about in this provincial place and scoff at beauty? vi lais It is a pretty phrase. romona [reads] "E'er I could know, could guess what he would do, he took me in his arms and kissed my lips." Ah ... ! vilais Ah — romona [reads] "Dear sister, you cannot understand. Yet I am troubled, for it was " — [she turns the leaf] Oh ! Why — it was Lord . . . vilais Dearest, you needs must be more nimble with your tongue to read court news. romona It was Lord . . . vilais It was the Grand Duke Loren — the plighted hus- band of your humble guest. romona No, no, it was Lord . . . Oh, forgive me, dear Vilais ! I did not mean to hurt. 47 vi lais It is the third time he has used those words to my most certain knowledge. It did not hurt. rom on a Not since you were betrothed? vi lais Aye, since we were betrothed. rom on a How can that be? Does he not love you? vi lais Love me? He loves my beauty, or any beauty, so 'tis near and not yet his ! Loves me ? He loves the power and the gold which like two ser- pents writhe about me. Love ! Do not all men love "the great, the rich, the beautiful Prin- cess Vilais"? Bah! I early knew such love ! rom on a Vilais! You have taken down the veil. You love him even less than that. vilais He is not worse than other men. And then our properties adjoin for miles and miles and miles. There is no help for it. Ah, yes ... I love him. romona But it is horrible! What of your life, your joy? What of your love, where will that be ? vilais I came here that I might forget just for a moment where it will all be — to forget that in a day or two the beauty and the joy of which all women dream I shall renounce forever. Ah, dearest, what will it be ? A little more perhaps, a little less, than yesterday. Some day you '11 come to me at court, and after years, say one, or two, or ten, you will return to this old terrace wall, and throw a rose down to a peasant lad ; and as, with honest eyes, he looks at you adoringly, you '11 learn somewhat of love . . . because he runs away. romona Ah! dearest . . . vilais No, no; it is . . . quite . . . nothing. [Enter count] 48 count Ah, here you are! Two morning-glories on my grim old wall. vi lais Did you not promise yesterday to take me early to the fields, show me your herds, your crops and peasantry ? Have you forgotten ? count Even within these forests which mark the almost unknown borders of your realm, there is no one who'd prove so unresponsive. Unless, indeed, 'twere he I have just left. rom on a You have just left? vi lais Your exception sparkles for one who, sickened with much flattery, seeks sincerity, however crude. Pray, who is he ? count He sent for me at midnight. romona At midnight! You went to his house? count But no more than ever was I favoured with his hospitality. He met me at his gates. No more than others could I gain a glimpse of what may lie beyond, vi lais Is this an emissary from some distant land who with a secret mission flees the court and hides in hamlets? romona No. vi lais A noble, then, who travels in disguise? romona No, no. vi lais A cloistered monk buried beneath his books? romona No, no, again, vi la is Who, then, whom noblemen obey at midnight, and yet are not received ? count There is no cause to fear our loyalty. romona He is no courtier. count Though indeed he has the simple nature of true royalty. vi la is Old men may be forgiven much. 49 rom on a He is not old. count Youth or old man, I know not which, his know- ledge and his powers so belie his years. vi lais You speak in riddles. count We speak of riddles. He lives there in the forest; the yellow gables of his house can scarce be seen from here save by far-searching and per- sistent eyes. vilais He is a — recluse? count Yes, and yet his life is spent in the market-place. A man with open hand and heart, but one who so hides his private life that naught is known of him save that he works for others. He has a wondrous sympathy for all that's good; is ever ready for great sacrifice of time or trouble. Seem- ing contented ever, his only woe apparently lies in his pity for them who lament that he has no troubles — no need of their assistance in return. He has the mighty powers of the self-contained, the superhuman strength of earnestness. rom on a The peasants say he is a wizard, and that behind his walls most wondrous things occur. count They are a superstitious folk. He is a gentleman, a scholar too, deep read in strange and occult mysteries. And yet he spends his life in work- ing for the poor. He gives them all. vilais Except his hospitality? count It is true that no one has ever crossed his thresh- old, but he renders to the world the statement of a well-spent life. rom on a Yet no one knows what may transpire there. count Whatever a man seems to conceal is ever specu- lated on by lesser minds ; perhaps 'tis this which urges us on to improvement. Because no one has So ever passed his walls, the peasants have woven a story concerning the life he leads behind them. 'Tis said that their gloomy faces are but masks which hide such halls of marble and gold and crystal that few can conceive their glory. Within the maze-like colonnades a vast and wondrous garden has sprung up by his own effort; and they believe that it is his remembrance of the beauties of this pleasaunce which gives him strength to help them bear the pain and ugli- ness and trouble of the world in which they live. vi lais A strange man truly. rom on a A man if he is honest will not close his doors against all the world. vilais A man, if he be man, must gain respite from the surrounding ills. rom on a He sets himself above the rest of us and his un- selfishness doth savour of conceit. He gives, 'tis true, and yet I feel his gifts are not of his best self. vilais Hath he no friends, no comrade; hath he no mis- tress ? romona He seems a lonely man, although, indeed, he may have a hundred houris hidden behind his walls. count He hath at least a heart no woman has assailed suc- cessfully. You see, she 's tried. Oh, no, now, little daughter . . . Oh, ha, ha, ha. Now it's fortunate the princess's heart is full of love for her gal- lant, else even she, spite all her charms, might contribute to the stream of tears which ever flows down from his hill-top. Ha, ha, ha. \Exit count] vilais There is no man so self-contained but if a woman take him unaware will open up his heart, and 5i like a boy prate of his dreams. So this is your recluse. romona Vilais, I beg you will not encumber me with him, even as a jest. vilais Oh, do not give him up too soon. A woman's great- est strength is a belief in her own powers. rom on a Doubtless to you he'd fall an easy victim. Your arts of eye and hand are understood but poorly by us who live more simple lives. vilais Well, when you come to court you will find many willing guides — if you will learn — romona I find there is no place however humble where I cannot learn somewhat of men. vilais So it would seem. romona A pity 'tis that, as my father said, your heart is full — vilais Romona! romona For you would fail and learn somewhat, even in our humble home. vilais If I failed as completely as you've forgot yourself I should indeed be vanquished. romona Oh, you would fail, quite miserably. vilais What, with your peasant ? romona He is no peasant. He would read your thoughts, and all your wiles would only make him laugh behind walls you could not even see. vilais Send for him. I'll wind him like silk around a bobbin. romona Send for him! My peasant! Why, he would not come at your command ! vilais Well, he is safer so. romona Here in the wilds a beauty's boast rings false, Vilais. Here the value of your virtues is not that of court ; and you with all your "charm," with 52 all your skill at intrigue, cannot even gain an audience with a man who would spend half his nights with a sick goatherd. vi lais I think, my dear, that you have lost your temper. romona I only know whereof I speak. There are some things which are not learned at court. My tem- per, oh dear, no ! Though it annoys me to find you set such store by all that you could do, when I would wager anything you could not even make him speak to you. vi lais A wager? That gives your words a semblance of reality. What shall it be? romona Oh, anything. You cannot win. vi lais A velvet gown? romona I know the man, Vilais. A wager will be but a present and I choose your presents from a better mood. vilais My mood is merely that of a woman who is sick of being praised for a " beauty " and a "charm " which have brought naught but hollow satisfac- tion ; and who finds here, most unexpectedly, an opportunity to test her powers. Here is a last chance to see what they can be made to do, for though I shall owe the duke nothing, yet my own conceit will prevent it by and by. Oh, I care nothing for your velvet gown, but I would see, will see, if this secluded peasant man of yours is proof against what the old Lord Chancellor has called "the greatest assets of the kingdom." My "beauty" and my "charm" have saved my people from a war, and as a wo- man I so hate my "beauty" and my "charm" for it that I would see them crushed and put to shame, and my belief in man restored again. 53 Yet he will fawn like all the rest. Why, I will add a string of pearls that he not only talks to me, but shows me all his treasures and his gardens, too, if they exist. And I will bring you back a flower, or his miniature set in a golden frame, which he with trembling, outstretched hand will have given me at parting. He shall not even kiss my gown, and yet I '11 wager yet another gown that he will tell me I am she for whom he waited. Oh, it is amazing how many men have found in me the one for whom they've waited. Vilais, you 're mad. We are children to quarrel so over nothing. It was my fault — forgive me. I would thank you rather; at last I find an interest in the world again. If you look at him like that I doubt not you will win. Come, dear, forget it all. I do believe you fear for him ! No, I like your re- cluse and his hidden glory. rom on a And so you'll try to break his heart and mar a noble life ! Did you not say he 'd broken many ? It will but make him more considerate. Besides, what if you do upset men's lives a little ; what do they give for all we offer or surrender ? Naught of themselves but whispers and a kiss — when they are so inclined. Oh, we are justified in leading selfish men through a fool's dance, just as they do with us. I 'm filled with sudden dread for you, Vilais — not for him, for there are things the court may learn from our cold country-side, — things which, like the forest there, are bordering upon other 54 ROMONA ROMONA VILAIS VILAIS ROMONA realms. He has walls about himself as well as round his garden, and he watches you from be- hind their impenetrable sides. vi lais And laughs, no doubt. Well, we will topple his walls down. I have seen men like that before, dear little cousin. I feel a girl again. [Exit] romona Ah, but, Vilais! You won't — Vilais ! CURTAIN 55 ACT SECOND Ocene first. A bare stone vaulted chamber in alland's house in the forest. There is a small door at the rear, but no other opening. A table at the left supports a large crystal retort upon a tripod, other chemical apparatus, and books, candles, &c. In the centre is a couch covered with the skins of beasts; beside it stands a chair. [a l l a n d enters in a state of great fatigue'] all and Secret chamber of repose, I scarcely had the strength to force my weary frame to you again ! Never before has the grasping world demanded such tribute. As a great darkness rolls league upon league about a tiny flame, so have earth's miseries encompassed me, drawn out and swal- lowed up and sapped my feeble rays. [He sinks upon the chair] O thou omniscient Power, who so ordainest for the relief of them who dare the endless search, what of my sacrifice ? Have I attained refreshment and encouragement? [A sound as of a muffled bell] Ah ! Rest at last. Quick now — tne conjuration — and release. I — I cannot rise. I can do no more ! A fool, who, given gold, lifts more than he can carry. I — I've overtaxed my strength — I can- not rise. [vilais enters] vilais He turned in here, I am quite sure, for I have followed all his wavering steps. This is their vaunted "haven of delight : " hollow like all the rest. Would I could find one bubble made of stuff to stand one touch. 'T would take two vel- vet gowns to ward this chill which, like that 56 rising from the earth at sunset, strikes the first note of dissolution, ere the winter comes. allan d Are you some new temptation which fatigue ex- aggerates, or a reward for greater efforts, or a new guide which, in the unfolding of my char- acter, the Force now first reveals ? What need, what unexpressed desire, now brings you forth from beyond the borders of my mind, unbidden ? With the reality of most constant effort you re- main before me. Your presence thrills me and your purpose dazes, you, who appear without surroundings in my unenchanted chamber. v i l a i s I — I 'm lost. I — I am no vision, as your wander- ing eyes would seem to state. I'm staying at the Count's. a l l a n d You are still chained ! Woman ? What do you here ? vilais I'm staying at the castle. This morning as I rode I took a lane which led into a thicket. Idle, I cared not where it went, till, weary, I endeavoured to return and found that my few deviations formed a barrier 'twixt me and the familiar ways. all and Well? vilais I saw you pass your formidable walls, and as my oft-repeated call remained unanswered — and as you left your door ajar — and as you seemed of gentle blood — and as, you see, I must return — I followed you. Will you not help me? allan d Is there still more for me to do? But I am strong enough for each demand, up to the end ! Aye, I will lead you back ; come, let us go. vilais His face is pale and drawn as if by many griefs. Time need not press your evident fatigue, — a moment rest. SI a l l a n d If I refuse your call, it may be I shall never rest again. vilais Can you rest here, — in this bare room? all and In this bare room ? Aye, here I rest, alone. Come, let us go. vilais Truly, your rudeness would imply a fear to have me here. all and Aye, I do fear to have you here. vilais Do you then think me dangerous? Could I but make him look at me — all and Why should fate leave a man's stronghold so un- disturbed for days, only to bring a wanderer on the hour when he is too weary to point out the path, or to protect himself? vilais Why, one would think I were an armed band, come for your jewels. a l l a n d Aye, you will shortly ask for them. I have no more to give — here and to-day. Come, you must go. vilais Oh! you are insolent! Rest, then, beside your hoard; I '11 find the way alone. allan d Let my fatigue gain your forgiveness. You came upon me suddenly, and here, where no one en- ters, I have forgot to think of others.; here I overlook the way and etiquette which rule the world outside. vilais Am I so terrible, for you to be afraid? alland The evening, which will soon descend, will make the forest frown. I am delighted to be of service to you. Come, let me lead you back to my good friend the Count. vilais This is defeat ! Yes, let us go. You are so kind — I fear — I am — a little weary too, I — [S 'he falls upon the couch] 58 a l l a n d You faint ! vi lais 'Tis very foolish. all and I was too selfish not to see — to realize how weary you must be. Drink this. A moment, you'll be well again. vi lais I am even now — quite well. Come, let us go — the way is long, I can — I think — e'en go alone. How childish thus to lose my way and trouble you who are so kind. Now I can go. all and Nay, quiet lie a moment on this rug. This skin once through a southern jungle waste went weaving in and out between aspiring palm and crouching cactus, a tapestry of wild barbaric life; crept under fluttering shades, and in the droning noon slept beside pools unknown save to those creatures wild as itself, who fled the towns. This I will put beneath your head — 't is whiter even than your brow ; 't was all the poor bear had, these few long hairs, a covering he perforce grew for himself to keep him from the cold which poured from icy mountains round upon the plain where he was doomed to live. So do I often lie, and think of their so different lives, and of how in the end they both so serve my need — and yours now that you too have need of them. vilais Can these, warm though they be, then satisfy your needs ? Are you not lonesome here ? all and Lonesome! No. Are you refreshed? vilais Why do you wish to rid yourself of me ? allan d I fear. vilais Fear? allan d I fear for you. vilais For me! Of what am I in danger? 59 a l l a n d Of being burned. vi lais In truth a little fire in your gloomy house would tempt me with its cheerfulness. alland We are not burned by fire alone; but there are other elements, which, held in check, warm those who may stand by, but uncontrolled, like flames, burn to a crisp the child who plays with them, vi lais [sitting up] Oh, the world's censure ! A mock vir- tue smear the maidenhood which you would not defile ? I fear not what the world may say if I but trust the man. alland The danger of the world's word lies not in itself, but in our reading of it. I fear not that, vi lais I do not understand. alland There would be no danger if you did. Would that you did ! vi lais That I might stay with you? alland That you might find yourself, vi lais [rising] Am I so much a burden then? If being lost — alland You do not understand, vi la is Is it so hard to send me back? alland It is so much easier to lead you on. vilais Only half answering each question, you seem to answer more than all I ask. alland Our words are but the symbols of the lives we lead. vilais Is then your life as unusual as your speech? I verily believe it is. Tell me of the life you lead. alland Is it fate or my own foolishness which forces me to speak and stimulate the very senses I would stifle? 60 vi lais Why do my simple words so fill you with despair ? I asked no idle question then. A sudden feeling, — I know not what, — a desire to understand a certain good I feel in you, swept over me. all and It is inevitable! Must I then, trembling with fa- tigue, still be assailed for that poor power which I would willingly impart did it not cause dam- nation. No, no, ask not. Come, I will lead you back, back to the life you understand; here that life and all its temporary standards are forgot. Here all is different, and they who in strange houses force unopen doors may pay a dreadful penalty. The imminence of my own responsi- bility and of your peril overwhelms me. Then let me lead you back again unchanged. I have not strength enough to teach you now — and you — you know not what you ask. [He sinks fainting upon the couc/?\ vi lais This is no simulated faint! His face is pale and drawn, as by the grief of others. What outward toil to have so wearied him ; what inward strug- gle to have furrowed so his brow ; what mind under this forehead, cold beneath my hand ! What wild words, what passioned kiss, might those lips not give when once enkindled ! Ah no, move not awhile, drink this — I did not need it all. See how some succour yet may come from strangers. And I will lay this over you, it is far softer than your sinewy hand ; perchance because it came from lands not hot nor cold, and was caressed by loving friends. I am a woman, and as a woman know your weariness and would have you rest. all and I may not rest ! 61 v i l a i s Nay, nay, you are not strong enough to rise. Why, when I first appeared you thought I was a dream. Do you remember ? And you hailed my presence with delight ? And now, as I lean over you, why do you tremble ? Can the hands of your dream maidens smooth your forehead with a softer touch? You see, I 'm jealous of them — yet I like your fancies : they seem more pure and beautiful than those of the world, out there — so far away. alland Ah, you are able to go on, and I should not pre- vent you ; I could not now even if I would. I can read your course behind your eyes. You know not what you do. v i l a i s Yes, I understand much better now, you and your room, and how you rest in it : for I have seen its gray walls with accustomed eyes. For here the world is far away, and there are times, so many times, when one is very weary of it all, and would escape, yet there it hangs over us, coffining our thoughts and a&s — and even duties. Then it would be good indeed to have a haven, which however bare, garrisoned only by our better selves, would be a citadel in times of trouble : a resting-place to which even in spirit only we could fly, — there perhaps to take some friendly hand in ours — know that its pressure is sincere, gaze into eyes and find the light of sympathy ; find some one always there to whose vast understanding I could bring per- plexities, and watch them disappear in the deep shadows of a night in which there was no fear. I envy you. alland Strong minds can formulate no wish too great for 62 their accomplishment ; meaner ones attain the resultant of diverse desires. You, running on your path, have, crossing mine, glanced at the book I hold, and long to read, v i l a i s I 've seen new truths there glinting across my view, like cobwebs blowing in the wind. a l land That middle page you see, preceded, followed by a thousand more, contains but slight suggestions of the story's whole, vi lais But one who in a valley sudden hears the soaring overtones of bounding hills must climb, and find — a l l a n d Mountain upon mountain rolled, making new out- lines for his world. vi lais And I — I do not know the way. And you — you do not turn the page ; and I — as I look in your eyes — Oh, I do not even know your alphabet. allan d The alphabet is learned by being honest, vi lais By being honest? alland Honest, vi lais Honest!! alland Truly you've learned but little, to be offended at a word whose meaning here is not that of the world outside. vilais Honest. alland Here, though each separate acl be weighed, yet is sincerity to one's self spontaneous. vilais Oh, yes, yes. I do know what you mean. I — I had forgotten my part, that 's all. alland Your part? vilais Yes, and you've sent me back already — to the antipodes. alland I have recalled old standards? vilais My standards are contemptible ! Yet how should 63 I know that you — Oh, now I realize that I must go — and I have still, thank God, suffi- cient of your honesty to, ere I go, apologize. alland Apologize? vi lais For my deception — I am not lost. ALLAND Not lost? vi lais I came here on a wager of a velvet gown, — be- cause I heard that you were unapproachable. I came here gambling that I would conquer you — I was not lost. alland Aye, you were lost. Far strayed again from the familiar paths. May I have strength ! vi lais And now I leave you, you whom I should like to know, and leave this room, the mystery of which has only just begun to fade. I may not remain to learn of that new world at whose threshold I am conscious of now standing. How often have I wondered if this would come to me, and if it came, how come ; and now the light of that which my intuition has ever taught most rare and sacred exposes all the hollowness of my worst nature. I know it, and I go — re- specting you and humbly asking pardon — I, who am the Princess Vilais. alland The Princess Vilais! vilais And I apologize. alland Poor child. vilais Why do you say that? alland Because you are so far from home. vilais You make a jest of me ! alland Nay — you have begun to learn your alphabet from your own life. vilais My life ! My life ! ! What is my life but a vain fol- lowing of other people's lives and whims and 64 fancies, of veneered welcomes, of futile regrets ? Is it my life to live their hollow happiness, their blind despair ; pretending a belief in their un- satisfying gods, pretending obedience to the laws which I see made with slanting eyes and grasping fingers ? Is it my life to promise fealty to a man I loathe, and prostitute my chastity to my own husband ? Is it my life to walk one little path cut through a boundless forest by those who also without compass happen to have gone before ? alland I have recalled old standards ! vi lais But with them you have also raised up new. I see them waving in the wind, hear sounds of roll- ing drums and calling trumpets; and legions of thoughts, so long absent as to be forgot, arise within my mind and call for leadership. From the far distant fields strange scouts approach — to pause reading half recognition in my bewil- dered eyes. I cry aloud to them, but even to myself my voice seems strange, and they fly back — are lost — yet not rejected. alland After the winter how the little springs all bubble up at once and form a rushing river. v i l a i s And you, and such as you, who have a knowledge of a better life, could grasp these fleeting thoughts, marshal these hosts and lead me on to victory, lie here and guard your "jewels," eat a full meal, while just beyond your gates lie thou- sands who with lives, with minds, with possi- bilities like mine are starving. alland Have you not read within some peasant maiden's wondering look all of her dream of you and of your life ? She sees her dreams shadowed upon 65 the world's hard wall, her own innocence re- flected in the lake. Why do you not show her a day of glory at the court and send her back with her illusion so- lidified into a glittering reality? Would she not then see all your days spent like her one ? Could she then understand the penalty you pay, or realize that the day, so bright to her, by you was tolerated, nay, to some extent enjoyed, not for itself, but on account of the prospect of its close ? Could you teach her to rule the court of which she sees only the surface? Would you not by such an acl: retard a life which, undis- turbed, might day by day improve, and grow to its own fulness? Think you to find in another life freedom from penalties, from temptations and from laws ? vi lais Like a fish so caught within a net it could not quiver I would lie entangled by a thousand laws, could I but see some aim and end to them. But if there are not broader laws than those I help to make outside, then is our living vain. allan d But greater laws entail more onerous penalties. 'Tis but a difference in scale. vilais And I would rise to them ! Oh, it is pitiful to stand and plead — I, who came to conquer you and win a gown — to have my vision turned into reality. But I believe that you are one of those of whom I 've found sug- gestions hidden in my books ; in the far-fixed eyes of strangers. Suggestions ? Fleeting, mad- dening glimpses of a land far brighter, higher, purer than my world. The trivialities and falsities and discords which 66 have made up my past life, like a dike built out of refuse by some careless hand, are now by a wave of anguish swept utterly away. Have you no duty to her who, helped on by fate, has passed your adamantine walls in the moment of her greatest need ? Can you deny a stranger asking for direction to the life you 've found ? To mine, miserable before, now is return impos- sible. If there are penalties, I '11 gladly pay them all, run all the risks of being "burned," and promise you to bear the full brunt of all, with- out complaint. Oh, pity me, for I am blind, and see no other light ; and I am great, and am enthralled by custom ; and rich, and enwrapped by knavery and guile ; and beautiful, and weary of lascivious eyes ; and I am a woman needing sympathy. If there is aught in this bright garden which I 've caught a sight of through your open door, then show it me, for I am faint, disconsolate, fatigued, discouraged and alone. [j4 sound as of a muffled bell] allan d How often in the future's more complicated web you may regret is now no cause of mine. You have not only knocked, but also entered. I will refresh you with the cup which either glorifies or damns you by the grace with which you drink. Burden or joy, you must henceforth go on, not unto "death," but to a thousand years beyond. [He throws a black cloak about the princess, and donning a white one himself he leads her to the table. He lights a lamp under the retort into which he puts dust and water] Stand here. Now, within the mystic circle, the 6 7 sacred pentagram I draw. Water, lie beneath the earth, which I now also pour. Again the water upon the earth, sealed with the sign of All. Now the fiercely burning fire soon will drive in a downward course through this liquor, the va- pour to rise and to dissolve in air. See, it boils ! Our fire alone keeps the primeval flood from making back. Now, as I restrain the flame, see the mighty flood ascending to the void. You now stand on the verge. The kingdoms of the earth will soon appear before you — but to re- nounce. Will you go on ? vilais I — let me hold your hand! — I will go on. all and Silence, then. See, see, see! [He extinguishes the flame, A terrific explosion follows, and the escaping steam obscures everything from sight] ucene second. Above the earth. A shaft of light is seen increasing in brightness, and as the steam evaporates, ilaia is discovered seated upon a soft gray bank. Her hands are clasped around her knees, she is looking up into the sky. Behind her there is nothing but sky; sky also seems to extend far beneath her. a l l a n d and vilais stand at one side in darkness. ilaia That golden glory, shrouding this from higher heavens, just now as I lay resting in its peace, did seem like a soft silky veil to wave aside, to part like filmy smoke reached by the sighing breath of sleepy winds. And there, within the deeper blue, looked out a face I knew, looked out at me — and smiled. The face of one I knew — in Herculaneum. The face of one I knew, once knew — and wronged. 68 Often when wandering in the flesh, in that life of dark forgetfulness below, I have passed him — have striven to remember him, striven to re- call what this one, wandering too and seeming strange, has been to me. Weak beings, less tim- orous of structures built upon their stones than on their souls ! Great Power, when again this period of rest is o'er, and I, again refreshed, return again to a material form, help Thou my recollection of this life and of its beauty, that I may pass my period of toil in clearer knowledge of Thy way and help thereby to raise myself, and help thereby to raise all else, unto those planes which I can now see shine above in the lustre of their own accomplishment and their ever-hearing union with the will of God. vi lais Where are we? a l l a n d On the outskirts of that land which you call "Hea- ven." antenor \above\ Ilaia ! i lai a So was I called in Herculaneum. [Enter antenor] anten. Ilaia! ilaia Again! And I have waited, — ah, but patiently. For even my yearning for thee, and that forgiveness of which I was so sure, has helped me strive to be more worthy thy return. anten. Ilaia, thy belief rises like incense from some pea- sant's light in ever-thickening cloud, until in ecstasy his rapt eyes gaze only upon his sense of what lies there before. vi lai s That voice? It called to me but yesternight in slumber ! 69 ilaia Thou needs not tell me all that thou hast done, how far upon the path which leads thee from me thou hast gone ; for this, my soul is ever near to thee as it is now, my spirit ever feels the throb of thine whatever thou mayst do. alland No need of explanation ; here there is no passion, no fear and no regret. anten. What satisfaction must be thine to know that I take this by thy right, not by mine own — that I do so fully understand — that thou art so con- scious of thy life and I of mine, that we in our appointed moments take all that we can give ; and then, until the wheel revolves again, wait, without interruption, even in forgetfulness. And when in these periods of forgetfulness the thought of thee comes, winging like the shadow of a bird, there is no sense of pain or sorrow or thought that thou mayst fear, or, whatsoever I do, doubt my belief in thee. And that secur- ity, like a moment's ease in lingering pain, en- ables me to catch through thy pure soul, as through a crystal, a fleeting glimpse of this real life ; to softly sigh and fall asleep, e'en knowing morning will bring pain again. vi lais If this be even the farthest borderland of heaven why does he speak of pain ? alland He slowly sinks from higher heavens, through this, to be reborn again. ilaia When thy arms grow weak with the toil of thy appointed path, then will mine tighten to better strengthen thee for thy great duty. Then will my spirit cry to thine, not so much for thee for myself, as that I may take my place, do my full service in the work of worlds, attain my end, and 70 give repose to them who have a larger work to do. v i l a i s Spirit or woman, whatsoever you are, I crave your sympathy. alland She may not hear your words. anten. Somewhere within that ever-dark'ning void be- low, rolling its courses, flies the system of the sun. Back to some planet of its puny way I must depart, back to that penitentiary to work out further freedom, or to form new habits and be passions' further slave. Back to a dull being of distorted soul, groping an unknown passage in adarkened world, striving in ignorance and fear 'gainst the chimera — time. With senses striving to overthrow even the slight remembrance I shall then hold of heaven, bat- tling against ignorance and greed more awful than my own, fighting a seeming useless fight 'gainst them who have forgotten more than I. Ah, Ilaia, as I sink down my perception grows less clear, and more and more I suffocate in ever- thickening atmospheres, forgetting more and more of my real self, until I pass that whirling fog of stultifying air, in which even the bright liberated ones returning home flash by and mean to my solidifying sense but flying sparks of light. And then the long, dull, painful sleep. vi lais Speaks he of death? alland He speaks of what in your world you call "life." anten. Whom, in a space they measure there on earth by days, shall I encounter? vi lais He cried last night within my dreams! I know your voice ! alland He may not hear. 71 anten. Brothers to be who are there now upon the earth, do ye not still remember somewhat of your life with us ? Enough to help me in those early days which will so soon enwrap me in a rotting robe of flesh. Not for myself alone I call to you, whoever ye may be, or paupers or princes matters not ; for plea- sure or pain, it matters not; but to you, sinking as I fall asleep, I cry the last prayer of the soul descending, to help me not forget the life which ye in your forgetfulness call death. vi lais Now by that voice I recognize as springing from my inward being, I conjure you to speak to me ! Surely there is no God, no power great enough to grant me ears to hear your cry from heaven, who will not grant my prayer. i lai a Who may this be, through whose dark frame the light so fails to penetrate ? anten. You are still chained ! Woman ? What do you here ? all and I brought her here. i lai a Hail, Master! anten. Hail, Brother! all and She on a tortuous path had lost her way. ilaia Did she not know? all and Nothing. anten. Hast thou done wisely, Brother? vi lais Yes, yes, oh, yes, for he has raised me up. I do not know what fearful penalty he pays, what an- guish he may undergo through this, his act. I only know that he has opened for me gates thro' which such splendour pours that I am strong enough to undertake all things, endure all pain, battle with all the world. 72 O you whose voice surges through my veins like fire, whose call is all that gives me strength to live, look down on me, stoop down to me, and let me feel your breath upon my brow. If you will come to me, however hard the task, however dif- ficult the path, I '11 treasure you ; I '11 watch each footstep over every stone, lest I should fall; cher- ish thy spirit for thee, give thee my mind, my soul, my life, my love — if thou wilt come to me. anten. Mother? And art thou worthy ? v i l a i s Nay, nay, nay, oh, nay ; but listen, listen : for when thou hast come, I will so strain, so work, will so exert each nerve and fibre of this frame, I will so strive, so pray, that God himself will look from His almighty throne and grant me grace. Now do you tell me where I must begin . . . dis- card my kingdom ; . . . my riches to the winds; . . . some desert isle alone; . . . move mountains, rock by rock, into the sea ? . . . Tell me, what must I do? anten. The thing to be done. vi lais The thing to be done? ilaia The thing to be done. vi lais What does it mean ? all and It is at hand — Farewell. [The steam rises as before, obscuring everything from sigh] 73 Ocene third. {Same as scene first .) vilais, sitting on the couch, gazes straight before her. all and regards her sadly. vilais [looking around suddenly] How dark it is ! [all and silently lights a candle] After the past how poor it seems, only illuminat- ing the poor things which stand close by. allan d It is alone by brightening what stands close by us we may learn to strike Promethean lights. vilais You in your greatness have shown light to me, master, — teacher, — friend. allan d You stood close by. vilais And you have given this to me, this vision of a greater life, this understanding of a higher power, this knowledge that a refreshing peace awaits me, — there — somewhere — immeasur- ably far beyond what I have seen. a l land You have but heard the tuning of an instrument. vilais Good man that you are. ALL AND Ah? vilais What can I ever do for this ? all and Live, learn, and prove your worthiness, for I have shown you that which is forbidden save to them who attain through their own toil. vilais I can at least do more than live and learn; and nothing, howsoever difficult, will I not do for you. For you with your own strength have lifted me from out my marsh, washed my feet clean from all the clinging mire, and set them on a path which, however steep, I shall with joy pursue. alland An we strain to the utmost our poor strength we always find a helping hand — vilais And love the hand the more that touches us in 74- moments of despair. Dear hands which have so gently lifted me, cooled all the fever spots in my unquiet mind, how I will work for you ! all and Nay, work thou for my work. v i l a i s Aye, for your work, of course, but for you too. For I can help. Ah yes, you think because I am a princess I am less a woman. I am not less but more, for womanhood, so long confined, will now flow forth, float — like my hair in the pure air of heaven when I remove my crown. Dear- est, you shall see how I can work and help you. all and Nay, nay, you are too beautiful. vi lais And do you think me beautiful ! Tell me so again, for then my beauty is not vain. And I will stay by you, until encouraged by my efforts for you, you go on to higher heavens, and I may see my task accomplished, and mount with you to greater joys. And yet — a greater joy I do not ask than this, of being here and near to you. all and And must a woman's gratitude lead always on to love ? vi lais They are but strands she mounts upon her loom on which to weave her happiness. And yet a woman never can be happy, dear, save when she is a part of an important whole. She bears her solitude, her troubles and her babes in glorious silence if but that she feels ; and all the wealth of Indies, the pleasures of the damned, aye, all her hopes of heaven, avail her nothing other- wise. all and She must then work for that which represents her strength, that which she holds good and noble, for her own life and for her better self. 75 vi lais Ha ! I have done more than that already. All the long suffocating attributes of intuition have writhed and struggled here within my breast until, like exorcised demons, they have fled, and I draw a free breath again. You are my strength and life, you are my better self, you what I hold good, strong and virtuous, you are the man I love. all and Not I — riot I — 'tis what I represent you love! vi lais Ah, what you represent! Yea, but that I have seen through you ; without you I am not strong enough ; without you I shall fail. alland No, no, you must . . . vilais It is you, you, you, you who have opened out my life; 'tis you I love. alland Vilais! Do you not see this is impossible? vilais Oh, I know you now so well, — and what you fear. My love shall never hinder you, but help. Here I will stay, unostentatious as a mouse, nib- ble my crumb, and scamper off at your first step. But you shall find me here when you return, worn with your toil. Then I will give you drink, guide your unsteady feet to this dear couch and spread the softest furs o'er you. Do you remember what you told me of these skins ? 'T was then I loved you first. And if you trem- ble, I will hold you tight ! tight ! tight ! and with the perfume of my unanointed hair I '11 lead you gently back to rest. alland Vilais ! We may not live in perfumed rooms and breathe the higher air ! Could you but know how you now torture me ! Have you then failed to understand the vision I have shown, or do you think me more — or less than man ? Think you 76 that I stand here unmoved by your emotion ? That I, like any other man, do not now long to take you in my arms, press burning kisses . . . No, no, no. I am a man, Vilais, and if of greater strength than most, think you 'tis for myself alone that I re- sist desire ? Tempt me no more ! vilais What do you mean? a l l a n d I mean that cruel though it seems to you — Ah, do not think that I fail to realize all you have said, all it might mean to me. I see the purity, the height, the nobleness, the beauty of you and of your words — but — Vilais, this may not be. vilais It may not be ? al la n d Do you think my heart longs not for you ? Do you not think your pain will add another wrinkle here ? Yet must I not be honest with you and honest with myself? vilais But why . . . alland What I most recklessly have shown to you to-day is but the lowest of the planes to which I'm destined, aye, and privileged to go. Should you stay here your dream would end like that of the poor peasant girl at court, for my gray room has shown you all that you can see, and in it you can learn to see no more. But there is — Vilais, look at me — vilais No, no, let me alone. alland But there is more, far more to see, if so you will. I cannot give you more of my own knowledge or of my peace — as you will find — as you will find to be the greatest pain in all the world. To do what I have done may prove to be but 77 L4VC useless ; but if you wish to be near me, to lean upon my strength or grant me rest — you will be nearer me outside, and, though in distant lands, feel more the pressure of my arm, and make me sleep more peacefully, if you are on the path laid down for you, than here. For here I must perforce live in a region you cannot yet attain. And if I grew to love you — as I should — enough to forsake the spheres to which I'm called . . . vilais No — no. a l l a n d Then would you lose your love of me, and through your hatred of yourself in making me give up that which you loved me for . . . vilais Yes, yes, I see, I know, I understand. But I do want to be with you, to fly with you to your sky. And if it is too soon, I '11 learn, I '11 wait — Ah, I have learned to wait. But you are all I have ! Ah, teach me how. all and No brazen trumpet sounds a messenger from hea- ven. No gorgeous pageant precedes a searching soul. The market-place with no tumultuous shouts rings benediction, but under the closed gates of the sleeping city, the pilgrim, in the cold gray of approaching dawn, must crawl. There is no sudden bound to light eternal, no freedom from restraint of law, and to a thousand tempt- ing prospects the paths of other men stretch out before. And what we know is our own way seems leading only to a bare waste of stubble. vilais You mean? all and That to go on, you must go back. vilais To the court ? Never ! all and Then is all my effort vain. 78 vi lais Then be it vain. But if fate forced me on to you ; if you have led me on to see a better life only to turn me back more miserable through this better knowledge of a purer thing ; if I am able to perceive more than before my former penury, then — to tell me to return is too complete a farce, a cruelty. You do not love me — no — let me go on — that I can see and feel again the awful poverty of my own nature. All that is best and finest in me is to you but a stepping-stone to things far better still. I in my ignorance thought that I offered much, — many have sickened for it, — and it was all I had — But you are right, I should not pull you down to my mean level. You whom I wish most of all to help, I hinder. But back to court I will not go. I will leave you, and gratefully, although — and find some quiet place where I may rest and think, and — Oh, I do not know. all and Vilais. vi lais You cannot tell what I give up for you. You in your brightness think it naught, but — I will go. This is the one real day I Ve ever lived, the rest, the others — oh, I will not let it end! ! I promise you that I will go. I swear it, — do you hear ? I swear. But now to-day shall be all mine. You owe it me — just for to-day. allan d Vilais? vilais You surely can do nothing more to-day — here I will stay with you, and you shall talk to me, teach me; and with my hand in yours, my head upon your heart, we '11 sit until twilight comes and night, and in the morning I will go. 79 alland Vilais! vi la is Well, what of that ! This is the one great day of all my life. Even though I know you do not love as I love you, I '11 taste the fulness of a human sympathy. I care not what it costs to me, no, not to you, no, not to any one. alland And yet, even now, part of the beauty of your day has gone. vilais Gone ? Why, it . . . yes, — yes, yes, yes, — has gone. I 've tarnished it. Oh, I am miserable. alland One person's love, alas, Vilais, can never link two souls. And must I not regard your life? — for you are going back to life, back to the court, back to the path marked out for you by fate, the only one by which you may proceed. Another's path, however flowery, leads on to his heaven perhaps, but not to yours. vilais But to be alone again. . . . alland Are we not all alone, save in our knowledge that, although unknown, there are many more, each on his path? vilais How well I understand what they call your con- ceit, if this vast loneliness lies on your heart. alland And you will go ? vilais And do "The thing to be done"? alland And do "The thing to be done." [A knocking at the gates without and the voice of the count calling'] count [without'] Vilais ! Vilais ! vilais They have come after me ! alland Then — come. vilais Nay, let me go alone. Let me retrace the wind- ings of your corridor, and in the passage steel myself for a new life — or to forgetfulness. 80 all and You may not forget. vi la is Alas, no, I cannot forget. all and Doubt not. vi la is Good-bye — alland God speed. It may be we shall meet again. vi lais [turning suddenly] Kiss me ! [alland kisses her] alland Vilais ! ! vi lais Nay — good-bye. [£#//] \Voices without calling "vilais! vilais!"] alland Almighty God! Oh, rest, rest — Rest. CURTAIN iOV 27 TO . Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 012 240 756 1