■NRLF MASQUES THE CHAPLET OF PAN Li" J CO Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/chapletofpanmasqOOricerich STAGE GUILD MASQUES ' THE CHAPLET OF PAN ' THE CHAPLET OF PAN A MASQUE BY WALLACE RICE AND THOMAS WOOD STEVENS THE STAGE GUILD CHICAGO Copyright by Thomas Wood Stevens and Frances Viola Rice. All rights reserved. Notice. Application for permission to perform this play should be made to The Stage Guild, 1527 Railway Exchange Building, Chicago; no performance of it may take place without con- sent of the owners of the acting rights. THE CHAPLET OF PAN. Dramatis Persons. [Original production] IMMORTALS. Pan, the Great God Donald Robertson The Dryad of the May Day - - - Virginia Brooks The Dryad of the May Night - - - Vida Sutton A Singing Nymph Grace Kennicott Chorus of Nymphs and Fauns. MORTALS. Ugolino, Prince of Capodimonte - - Hermann Lieb Riccardo, Poet to the Prince - - - - Francis Lieb Pietro Paolo, Steward to Ugolino - - William Owen Baldassare, the Prince's Headsman - - Frank Hardin Ruffo, a Goatherd J. Ralph Bradley Fiametta, a Young Lady of Quality - - Alice John Sidonia, beloved of Pietro Paolo - - Marion Redlich Beffana, a Goatherdess ------ Grace Wilson SCENE. A wood in the gardens of Ugolino. Marble seats right and left. In the distance the portico of the palace. Statuary dis- posed among the shrubbery. At the right, a terminal figure of a faun. TIME. A May Day in the Fifteenth Century. Note. — The Chaplet of Pan was first produced by Donald Robertson at Ravinia, and was played by him at the Art In- stitute, Chicago, season of 1909; special performances were given for the Polytechnic Society, the Art Student's League of Chicago, etc. It was also played at Mandel Hall, Uni- versity of Chicago, in 1909. 38504S DEDICATION. This is for Kenneth and Marjorie This slender book Of May- While it is still their Maytime, Of tenuous plot and mirthful play- Before a little lost becomes their playtime, Ere ever a year may look Askance at them, or see Aught but the merry plan Of living, loving on the fond May Day ; And if, long hence, when they shall scan These brief, slight pages. Some seeming happy line engages Strong eyes Or sweet, May they think on the great god Pan, Whose children all are we, And may their spirits greet The makers of this masque. Who only ask Of any skies The granting of their prayer Through every jocund month to be: That Kenneth and fair Marjorie May always move in sunlit air Down leafy aisles. O'er gleamy lawns. Through hours that sing And many a year that smiles, Remembered by, remembering The garden gods and nymphs and fauns Of everlasting Spring ! THE CHAPLET OF PAN. The first glimmerings of morning twilight; a chorus of unseen fauns and nymphs, chanting : Pan, earth's lord, is a very god,— Father and brother, too,— Lord of the spirit, lord of the clod, God of the stars and dew. Blossoms there are, and piping birds. Herbs and trees and man, Brooks and hillocks, flocks and herds, — And all are gods with Pan. We in Pan, and he in us, All in the May Day weather ; He and the Springtime glorious And we — great gods together. [The dawn brightens, discovering Pan awaking from sleep, his back against a tree; he rouses himself and rubs his eyes.] PAN Now do the spiteful constellations swarm Along the western rim of night. Ah, me! I 'm wearied with much running after joy. Tired with deep laughter and swift-hearted love, All warm and cold with April in my veins, All full and hungry, both at once, with May. Here is no time for wintry sleep. They '11 say That Pan grows old. . . . How many times, O Night, have we fared forth To watch along the hills the trees in fear Tremble and thrill when from the fervent South The still, green serpent, like a league-long stream, Comes up and clips the world, and clings to it, And squeezes out the milky juice of Spring; How many times, my May Night! .... Only to me this one of all my nights, One for full wakening, running, keen encounter, And flying pulses from the spring of Time. And Italy grows old : the moon that in my youth Turned all the hills to gold, sheds silver now ; For Artemis is dead, and .some poor sprite. Cold from the North, comes down to take her place. The rose trees that a thousand years ago Fed on the dust of girls I once had loved. Are gone, with all their kisses, on the wind. To-night a nymph ran by me, silently. Not laughing with the wonder in her eyes, And so my eager hand slipped through her hair And she escaped me. But a single tress was reft And tangled in my fingers. . . . I let her go : The tress was grey. [He takes the chaplet from his head.] She did not wait, not she; But, had she waited, I 'd have given her this, And let her feel the hot, sweet leap of blood That riots through my chaplet in the Spring. This would have made her young and gay, . . . This would have granted her one day of mirth. [Enter the Dryad of the May Night.] Ho, ho ! Here 's one that knows me. [He makes for her, hut she eludes him.] DRYAD OF THE MAY NIGHT. Not so fast, god of the one blue night ! PAN. O thou that livest in the poplar's heart, Is it not good to be, to laugh and love, Roll in the dew, and give the night to joy? DRYAD OF THE MAY NIGHT. Yea ; but I 've slept a year within my tree. I 'm cramped. PAN. This is a time for mirth. Come, run with me, down to the beaten marge Where the sea whispers, and we '11 play awhile With Aphrodite's mother. DRYAD OF THE MAY NIGHT. Nay ; not yet ; My knees are woody still, my feet unspringing; It needs a moment for the sap to start. [Sees the Faun's head.] Who's this? PAN. [Putting his arm around the Faun's neck.] A Faun I knew — an ancient friend — They 've just dug him from under centuries. [He crowns the figure of the Faun with his chaplet.] Wear now my chaplet. If its magic hold, Your stony lips should lighten with rich laughter, Your cheeks should glow and puff with liquid mirth, And you should shake away this marble shell, And dance to inward music. No ? He 's gone. The chaplet wakes him not — no life in him. [To the Dryad.] He was the merriest fellow in his day, — A stealer of wine, one who could laugh the hours From twilight until dawn. DRYAD OF THE MAY NIGHT. Yea ; I remember him. He bore me off One night in summer to a distant shore Where, still afloat among the blossoming waves. The dawn flew down and found us. Not a tree On all the shore to hide me, but a cave Deep in the rocks ; and half the livelong day As we lay hidden, scornful Artemis Drew up her waters and imprisoned us. He was full of song. But now — he *s grave enough. PAN. And you, and I, and all the world grow grave. Bah! I am tired of time and silences. Shall we be conquered by the nibbling years, Shall we sit quiet like a shepherd's crone, And turn to marble while the earth grows old? Tree-Heart, burn with the Spring, leap with the wave, [He catches at her again, but she escapes.] Down with me to the temples that stand on the beaches, Down and dance, in the whirl of the moon's white fire. Sing, love — way, come away! [A ray of light strikes on his face.] The sun doth smite me, and the night is gone. [Enter Dryad of the May Day.] Lead on, old Time, I '11 follow for the nonce. [Gives a hand to the Dryad of the May Day.] But not until we 've greeted the glad day. DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. *T is ours, O Pan, to rouse a drowsy world. PAN. Aye, Dryad of the twelvemonth's splendid hours; Ho, brothers and sisters, come dance the May! [Enter Chorus of Nymphs and Fauns.] Not yet dead is the ancient world : Deep in the heart of man are furled Old belief and pulsing creed Proved by many a jovial deed. CHORUS. Dance we then in the merry May, Live and love as in earlier dawns, Greet with gladness the lyric day, Pan and his jocund nymphs and fauns. PAN. Not for us is the pallid face, Lowly demeanour and all ungrace ; Not while breathes a maid and man Fails the worship of great god Pan. CHORUS. Dance we then in the merry May, Live and love as in earlier dawns, Greet with gladness the lyric day. Pan and his jocund nymphs and fauns. [Exeunt omnes, led by Pan and the tzvo Dryads; Pan's chaplet is left on the head of the Faun. The light strengthens to mid-morning. Enter Ugolino, greatly bored, followed by Riccardo, who is reading him an original poem on Spring.] RICCARDO. [Reading.] This is the merry month men call the May, When even night is bright, and gay the day; When flowers and serpents, yea, the pretty dove Affection whisper, and would prove their love. This is — UGOLINO. On what proud day, aglow with Phoebus' fire — Did you concoct that pitiful device? RICCARDO. One only sings as the spirit drives. Your Grace, I do regret the verses please you not. UGOLINO. Have done with cringing compliment. How long Have I now had you by me? Long enough to learn H but the Muses left one spark of wit — I only have you for the fashion's sake, I only praise you for that you are mine — When it doth suit my public humour. For myself, I 'd rather hear a bagpipe squeal. Riccardo, Take yourself away ; go find some girl Can make you dance. Have done with singing. RICCARDO. Your Grace, I only go, or sing, or dance, Or live, I may say, as your Highness wills. UGOLINO. Get you gone. Get you— [Exit Riccardo, hastily.'] He only lives as I will ! Mother of Heaven, Let him die, then. I '11 not be blamed for him. May Day revels, forsooth! I've that within— A weary, windy space where my heart was, A nipping, bleak November of the soul — Will make an end to all this May-tide folly. Riccardo, Fiametta, Pietro Paolo, — Ye gods, how they do bait and sicken me ! I 'm neither old nor young enough, they know. To make a sport of common tyranny. I am not wont to slay without excuse ; Here 's self-defense. They 're boring me to death. Poets and thieves I have, and girls that smile; But in myself no tickling worth good laughter, No temper hot enough for fight, no urge, No flickering tang in honest princely sin. Whose fault 's all this ? I '11 make an end of them. RUFFO. [Heard from without. 1 Come on, Beffana, come; come on along! UGOLINO. More apes ! Lord, can I never be alone ? [He goes off among the trees!] [Enter Ruffo and Beffana, he leading her by the hand.] RUFFO. I^ok you, BeflFana, here 's the stone fellow I told you of. Which is, I take it, a man that hath slept in a clay-bed, and so turned to a post-top. ^ Right where he was, he be, and has never stirred sin' yestere'en. BEFFANA. [Moving around the figure.] 1 see nothing good to him. He 's lacking an ear, too, and the other ear is stuffed with mud yet. RUFFO. That 's as well, too. He need not listen to your chit-, tering. BEFFANA. My chittering, forsooth! What think you of his looks ? RUFFO. Why this, Beffana: he shows what manner of men there were in Italy when he went asleep — and an ugly sort, and a bad sort, and a wicked. Plainly the goat is running out of the blood. Men be better looking of these days. What a horrid nose ! [He stands beside the Faun.] Say, now, Beffana, be not the men better favoured nor they were ? Look o' me and the stone fellow. Say now? BEFFANA. I see little, very little, and the truth be told — which I will tell truth as ever -very little, as it were — to choose between the two of you. RUFFO. Be off, you vixen. BEFFANA. An I were choosing a man to watch goats, I 'd take you, Ruffo, I would. He 'd be ay too friendly with the flock. But for a husband— RUFFO. What be you doing a-choosing husbands— at your age, and your man not yet nine years dead. Besides, he hath a string o' spinach atop of his head, which is, I take it, an uneven way to look at us. Now I take off the spinach, and put it on myself, and — [The music sounds the chaplet motive, and as he puts the wreath on his head, the Dryad of the May Day enters, dancing. Ruffo rubs his eyes, laughs foolish- ly, and starts toward the Dryad. Beffana sees noth- ing of this, being engaged with her own scorn- ful laughter. Ruffo begins to dance clumsily, and is led around the stage by the Dryad, till he dances be- fore Beffana. Exit the Dryad.] BEFFANA. You look like the roast pig to a harvest feast RUFFO. [Still dancing.] I 'm not so old my blood is cold, Nor yet are you, my lassie-bird ; Why should we hold an empty fold When love is free, as I have heard. And as for you — if I '11 be true Until the sun o' morrow, Is youth so mad or Spring so sad That you should think o' sorrow? BEFFANA. Come here, fool. What zany work is this ? Maybe 'tis a fairy wreath, that can make you rich. Give it me. [He dances around her; she catches at the chaplet.] Give it me, I say. I 've a mind to try it on. [She gets it; the chaplet music sounds as she puts it on, and she stands chuckling. The Dryad comes in and dances before her until she herself begins to dance. The Dryad disappears.] RUFFO. 'Troth, Beffana, I never knew you were so fair. BEFFANA. 'Sooth, Ruffo, I had forgot how young we were. RUFFO. Beffana ! BEFFANA. Ruffo! [They sit together on the bench, embracing each other and still swaying to the rhythm of the dance. U go- lino enters at the back,] UGOLINO. It cannot be such things as these have use, Save that they mar a quiet world, stir up a pool That else would give the sky to downcast eyes. It were a worthy work so to contrive That they might serve a gentle purpose. RUFFO. Gk) wi' me to the shore. BEFFANA. Nay, come wi' me to town. RUFFO. . I '11 never leave you more. BEFFANA. I '11 go wi' you to the shore. RUFFO. And we '11 go together to town. UGOLINO. [Coming dozvn.] Come hither, fellow. Know you Messer Paolo? [Ruffo nods, still almost dancing.] Take you him this key, and tell him this : Madonna Sidonia bids him come at once. Here to the Faun's head. [Ruffo goes out, whistling and loitering.] You, dame, take off that chaplet. Your age ! [She takes off the chaplet and leaves it on the bench.] Bear you this message to Madonna Fiametta. Say to her : A poet by the Faun's head waits And hopes to see the sun of heaven burn In golden glory through the tree-ways hither. BEFFANA. ^. What means all that, my lord ? UGOLINO. Mischief, dame. Be you swift at it 1 BEFFANA. [Following Ugolino off, centre.] Ruflf o, Ruffo, wait for me f [Ugolino claps his hands. Enter BaldassareJ] UGOLINO. See you yon goatherds ? I have given them An errand each. I would not see them more. I never saw them till to-day, and yet They weary me. BALDASSARE. All shall be done neatly, my lord, as you command. [Exit Baldassare, centre.] UGOLINO. If I but cross them, they will soon cross me. I M not be bloody. I only ask for peace. Yet if they will not give me peace, and live Out of my sight, why then I 've leave to set A trick or two afoot. And when they cross me— [Exit Ugolino, left. As he goes out. Pan and the Dryad of the May Day creep out of the foliage on the right. Pan takes up the chaplet caressingly,] PAN. The live things still do dance my tune. My day Stirs in these human clods the urge of spring And sets asprout the seeds of love and mirth. [He crowns the Faun again,] Old friend, it grieves me that you do not wake, And that for you my day comes up in vain. DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. Some curious tyranny here they practice. Pan. Yon prince doth deal in plots and devilries, And makes of love, on this your day of days, A treason and a coil of death. PAN. Let him. We have no fear of him, no care of coils That weave among the faithless hearts of men Or fluttering souls of life. For us the years Slide on and pass in quick succession by : The blossom of our immortality Fades not, nor dies. DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. [Pointing to the Faun.] Yet he has tasted death. PAN. Not so ; and yet, he lives not. He was one Of my leal subjects while my shrines were green. I mourn him now : within his body breathed A fervent fire that never was a soul ; He was an earthling, filled with earth's delight, But never tinctured with eternity, And when that footless flame burned down He sank to earth, and naught of him was left To wander with the troop of banished gods In glorious exile out beyond the stars ; And naught of him was like the soul of man That lives beyond translation and decay. Thus much we know of time : there was a tide That filled our altars high with sacrifice. And poured out riches of the sun-loved earth. And made us mad with power and ecstasy. Then, lo! the tide ebbed back into the sea, And fallen temples white beneath the moon Housed ruined altars lacking wine and flame. Faith die — so much we know of death. DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. And is there in you no quick pitying thing That leaps when loves are cut away and bleed? PAN. Aye, loves. What shall loves do with death? DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. These mortals seem to mix them fatefully. PAN. Ah, but, my Tree-Heart, this shall we re-mould ; The man who plots of bloody deeds to-day Affronts me in my very temple door. Behold the love that the enfolding sun Doth press upon the lips of Italy ; Look how the trees do yearn to touch the sky; Look how the gentle birds do sing and mate ; Look how yon clods are maddened with divine And fleeting humours. Hear our nymphs go by — [Enter the Singing Nymph. Pan, listening to her song, follows.] THE SINGING NYMPH. By the rain that fills the day. Dripping, sombre skies of grey, The Faun I love has gone away ! By the greening grass and tree, Birds with mating melody, The Faun I love comes back to me ! By the suns that softly shine, All things tender, all things fine. The Faun is here— my love is mine ! [Exit the Singing Nymph. Pan shakes off the reverie of the song, crying triumphantly.'] PAN. And Pan is here — and love is thine. ' [He runs hack to the Dryad.] This coil Is ours to scatter. See, now cometh one Who brings the tyrant's token. Watch, Tree-Heart. [Pan and the Dryad go off, stealthily, and Pietro Paolo enters hurriedly, looking about him.] PIETRO PAOLO. [Calling softly.] Sidonia, Lady Sidonia. [He listens a moment, and then takes out the key.] Madonna Sidonia sendeth me a key. What means that, I wonder ? A key, sometimes, Symbols possession— she means to give her heart, Scarred with past battles and my year-long siege. Into my keeping. Pleasant May Day fancy ! [He takes up the chaplet.] She comes. I '11 not seem to mark her. [Enter Fianietta, also hurriedly. As he turns toward her, Pietro Paolo flings down the chaplet at her feet, saying,] Garlands for your path, madonna. [The key falls with the chaplet. Pietro Paolo, who has bowed low in flinging the chaplet, now sees that he has flung it to the wrong lady, and exclaims impa- tiently,] Fiametta ! FIAMETTA. Take it for your own, Pietro. Only See to it that your path lead hence. [Pietro picks up the chaplet. She seats herself, and looks hack at him.] Not gone yet? PIETRO PAOLO. Not yet. I 'm minded to stay here, forsooth. There 's many a pleasanter spot, I '11 warrant you ; But I '11 none of them. Here '11 do for me. [He seats himself.] FIAMETTA. It 's a sad world. . . . Here I be comfortably established, With a long, sweet May Day melancholy. Alone and innocent ; then you needs come And bring a face whereat I can but weep. And a sound like a man counting money. PIETRO PAOLO. I do admit, madonna, that you mar The tender glory of this sunlit spot FIAMETTA. Ah, glory doubly marred ! Ah, weary day ! f [Both look off stage expectantly.] Ah, to be safely home again, for there I M lock you out, signore, and have peace. [In looking for the expected arrivals they come face to face, and each draws hack.] PIETRO PAOLO. [Musingly.] I cannot fathom why you so pursue me ! FIAMETTA. Insolent ! Have you taken earth-roots here, And sit and grow, and never will be gone? PIETRO PAOLO. In sooth, I 'm wearied out. I do admit it. You have me run to ground at last. . . . FIAMETTA. Then should Sidonia follow fast and seize Her breathless quarry. Alas, poor Sidonia, That she should chase so far and win so little ! Signore, you forget what day it is. Caper a bit, and seek your lady out. PIETRO PAOLO, Ah, melody of May ! the wine of Spring — [He looks at the chaplet, which is tingling in his fin* gers,] I would I were out of this! FIAMETTA. I doubt not Sidonia hath a wood-full of lovers. Crown yourself, Pietro, and dance in her train. [Pietro Paolo dons the chaplet, smiling ironically; the chaplet music is instantly heard; he rubs his eyes, and his face lightens; the Dryad of the May Day ap- pears before him, dancing, unseen by Fiametta, who is looking sulkily in the opposite direction. Pietro is fascinated by the music and the dance of the Dryad, and falls to dancing himself. The Dryad leads him about the stage and leaves him before Fiametta, still dancing.] PIETRO PAOLO. Look you, Fiametta, why do we waste our May Day? What have we, and what has any one. To quarrel withal ? I M hold it merrier If we let more of sunlight in our souls, Spoke free, and laughed, and made the most of youth. I longed for sweet Sidonia here anon. Having her token, and would have you hence ; But now, in truth I would not have so fair, So young, so blest a daughter of the gods As you go from me. FIAMETTA. What sudden shift of heart speaks here? PIETRO PAOLO. No shift— but I have come to sense again. Sweet lady, let there be no more of wrath, No biting words ; let all old hates and jests Spin down the wind. [He dances again.] FIAMETTA. Have done this dancing. Pietro, go away ! PIETRO PAOLO. The only little spark that grieves my heart Is that I dance alone. Fiametta, I cannot stay to see you look so sour. Let me have eyes that dance, and lips that kiss. And hearts that sing; else I must run away. You, Fiametta, in your lenten face And long-drawn temper, make the world all grey. I would not wait to irk you. Take you this. Wear it a merry moment, smiling on me. And I '11 be gone, and run through Spring and Heaven Till the vision fades. [He gives her the chaplet.] FIAMETTA. You swear you will be gone? PIETRO PAOLO. Truly I will -- Till you would have me back. FIAMETTA. That 's fair enough. [She dons the chaplet, rubs her eyes, and the Dryad ap- pears with the music as before.] How the gold sunlight glitters through the green ! [She also begins to dance.] PIETRO PAOLO. What have I found in gold to love and cling to, While there was sunlight and a woman's hair ! FIAMETTA. Pietro, you promised you would go away. PIETRO PAOLO. Aye, so I did — but now — FIAMETTA. No matter. I Ve forgotten why I willed To have you go. Here 's a wood of wonder ; I *d not be alone in it. PIETRO PAOLO. If you were minded to slay me, and so Blacken the good green carpet of the world, My soul would still float here and palely thrill To watch you. You could no more be alone. Being so fair, than I could close mine eyes And blot the vision out. Ah, Fiametta, Flower of joy; what flame above your brows! All conquered cities that have burned for love. All sunset lights caught up in whirling seas. All altar fires, and poppies in the grass. And spinning gold that speaks the love of Jove, Gleam round your head in dear divinity. FIAMETTA. Time for sweet words when the sweet night comes on. PIETRO PAOLO. Time now for words— winds that blow to the heart If I were silent, looking in your eyes, I 'd drown in them, seeking the cloudy line Where the sky's blue is melted in the sea's. Ah, voyage into virgin deeps, for me — And lands beyond the dawn, and at the end The golden fleece — FIAMETTA. I, too, am taken with a love of love. [She dances a few steps.] PIETRO PAOLO. Dance, Fiametta. I love you bending so. As I do love the reeds that greet the wind. FIAMETTA. Pietro Paolo, for that it is Spring, I 'm fain to dance with you. And yet — [The music stops suddenly, and she stands still.] I feel Down in my heart's well, where the water of life Bubbles like sand-springs after rain, some wave That will not stir for you. I would not so Have danced for you in winter, Pietro. PIETRO PAOLO. And I have always said, before to-day That black hair pleased me best. FIAMETTA. I believe you shift with every change of weather. [Enter Sidonia.] PIETRO PAOLO. Well, that 's a merry heart, and a free heart. To have in Spring. SIDONIA. A free heart, have you, and you boast of it? PIETRO PAOLO. Look, Fiametta, where Sidonia comes, With morning step, yet twilight in her eyes, With starry nights in coils upon her head, Crowning her snowdrift beauty as with flowers, And on her lips the life-blood of a rose. SIDONIA. Faithless and false, what is all this to thee? PIETRO PAOLO. Sidonia, I am no more false in this Than the clear sun that shines on both alike. Here is a day for love, and shall I waste An hour in seeking, moaning what is lost? SIDONIA. Well, having found me, where 's the day to be? PIETRO PAOLO. Ladies : I am of bigger mould than once I was. I cannot be without you both ; black hair I love, and red hair, too. Can we not all. In common joy and mutual delight Spend the day together? FIAMETTA. Nay, Pietro, come with me. I love you not, But I Ve a merry mood and a light foot. Come, We '11 seek Riccardo out. [She takes him by the arm, drawing him with her.] SIDONIA. [Seizing his other arm.] Nay, come with me. I '11 not be seen with such a train of folly. [Both ladies tug at Pietro, trying to take him off in opposite directions.] FIAMETTA. Come, Pietro. She dares not be seen with you. [Fiametta finally pulls him away from Sidonia, and they go off, leaving her alone in the centre of the stage.] SIDONIA. There go a long year's love-lies. Let them go ! [She flings off in the opposite direction. Enter Pan and the Dryad of the May Day.] DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. Your chaplet maddens them. Our spells are potent. PAN. Aye, if they all will put it on. Now mark : They wear my chaplet, and they burn with love. Tree-Heart, expound me this : why should this wreath Not turn them all to me again, and let me rule. As once I ruled, the natural heart of earth? My Day will pass, but when it comes next year Might I not find a welcome among men. Somewhere a little temple decked with flowers, Somewhere an altar garnished, and a priest In unfamiliar, loving voice to chant? Is this too much for one who was a god To ask of Time? DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. The wreath will surely fade. PAN. True, true — the wreath will fade. So f adeth now The last dim flicker of Olympian hope. But still, if I can no more be a god, No longer smell the smoke of sacrifice. No longer see my votaries at the shrine In saffron robes of solemn festival, At least I am not wholly dispossessed ; My magic holds ; now like a harlequin Doth poor old Pan limp up and down the fair And juggle destinies for clowns who love. What would I more? DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. It seems to me good sport. PAN. And so it is. , . . But I remember well, Too well, Tree-Heart, the dawning of the world. DRYAD OF THE MAY DAY. Can Pan be sad on May Day? PAN. Up! To work! Let me shake off these haunting memories That flock about me like the birds of night. [He picks up the key, which Pietro Paolo has left on the ground, and as he speaks his incantation over it, the musical motive of the key is heard for the first time.] This key the tyrant made his token. See, I make it mine. By Hermes ! glittering key, — I make thee mine. I touch thee, thrice. I breathe In secret whisper my most secret name. And now let him soe'er who holds thee dream Of power to pass ambition's highest bound ; Twist the clear common faculty of sight Awry ; give him vain visions, unrealities ; And fill him with seditions and revolts. Now, Woodling, watch mine ancient wisdom work Upon their mortal folly. Love am I For this day's traffic — love that weaves and crosses. [Pan and the Dryad go out. Ruffo and Beffana come in, dancing, followed by Fiametta. They dance a fig- ure to the heat of the verses.] BEFFANA. Airily dancing in the day, Daintily glancing through the May, RUFFO. We are the folk who herd the goats. And like the goats are skipping. FIAMETTA. I keep no goats, but I wish I did. For my feet are as free as the feet of a kid ; I 'm weary of buskins and frocks and coats — My every-day life it is slipping. BEFFANA. Lady or goatherd, RUFPO. Mistress or man, BEFFANA. We 're worshipping Love wherever we can, RUFFO. Dancing his dances, chanting his notes, FIAMETTA. As the minutes go merrily tripping. [Beffana sinks down on one of the benches.] BEFFANA. My life! But dancing all night would be like eating peaches. Fifteen seasons, and all of 'em Spring — that 's my age. You have n't a kid younger, Ruffo. RUFFO. We're of the May Day, praises be ! You, me, and the goats and kids. FIAMETTA. Why do we stop ? The May is still as bright, Bright is the sun, and rustling soft the wood. Hear the bird-notes calling ! Their very whistle Sounds a rigadoon. Come, my feet would dance ! Why is the spirit of Love away? RUFFO. There 's but one May, and that 's to-day ; BEFFANA. His breath is quick in each zephyr that floats, FIAMETTA. And the wine of his Spring we are sipping. [Enter Riccardo, who stands amazed at the sight of Fiametta's companions.'] RICCARDO. Here, cease ! Fiametta, what is this? Where now The maiden modesty that left your cheeic Ruddy as sunrise in the summer dawn ? Are you a goat, that you go prancing thus ? FIAMETTA. Not I, Riccardo. These are goats, and I A kid. Butt him, good Ruffo! RICCARDO. Cease. Away ! [Exeunt Ruffo and Beffana, Riccardo picks up the key; his face changes slowly, and he leaps up with a look of magical exaltation.^ I * ve found it, donna mia, — mine at last, Wholly, entirely mine, and mine alone ! This key unlocks black Ugolino*s life, And when I turn it, all his tyrannies Shall blow across the empty midnight — lost ; And I will bring this land to justice; I, And I alone, shall rule, deliverer Of all our people from his wolfish thrall. FIAMETTA. What think you you have come upon, Riccardo? RICCARDO. Hear me, for hope begins to burn in me. What is 't? FIAMETTA. A key— an ordinary key. I RICCARDO. The key to him who holds beneath his heel This principality ; key to a door Where death shall enter soon. Let silence fall Around me as a cloak to hide the deed I now must carry in my heart's hot core Until I strike. Silence — and secret steel! FIAMETTA. These doleful plottings ill become this wood. If you have heels for dancing — I stay here. RICCARDO. [Seats himself, resolutely,] Heels for dancing — when I Ve this to do : — To kill a tyrant ere I dance again. FIAMETTA. This talk of slaying goes against my mood. Poet thou art, and no conspirator — Bays for thy brow, and music for thy breath. [She crowns him with the chaplet. The Dryad enters as before, and Riccardo rubs his eyes to find himself dancing after her. He speaks or sings.] RICCARDO. Young is the day, Now it is May, Young, too, are we! The sky, the year. And youth are here — So runs our glee ! No song is sung Save when we Ye young : The May, the sky. The lass, and I f [Exit the Dryad.] FIAMETTA. I knew you poet— now I Ve had my song. RICCAWX). [Now doubly bewitched,] Who spcke of me as poet? I am prince, And men kneel to me ; when I cough, they wince. Nay, I am king, and when I chance to sneeze. Ladies and lordlings fall upon their laiees. Indeed, I 'm more than that — I 'm emperour And hearty men fall dead the nights I snore. [Enter Pietro Paolo in haste,] PIETRO PAOLO. I have nigh lost myself three times or more While I Ve been hunting for Sidonia — [Perceives the others,] Ah, here you are. . . . Riccardo, and sweet Fiametta, you ! I Ve done my duty searching — now let 's dance. [They dance a measure to the beat of the lines, which they speak alternately.] The sweetest of May Is with us to-day, And happy our feet in the measure ! We are children of Love, With his white clouds above And his shadowy wish for our pleasure ! So we trip it and sing To Love and the Spring, And close in our bosoms their treasure ! [The dance ends.] FIAMETTA. No king with countless treasures is more merry. RICCARDO. Nay, I am king. This key you both do know. Shall give me entrance to my room of state. And who shall dare reject my sovranty? [He gives the key to Fiametta, who is at once made a partner in his magical sedition.] To you, my Fiametta, I entrust My crown. FIAMETTA. I yearn to offer homage here, And be the first to kneel before your throne. King, in your court is there a place for me? RICCARDO. An equal throne, to sit at my right hand. [He seats her beside him, and she beckons to Pietro Paolo.] FIAMETTA. And you shall hold our treasures, Pietro. [She gives him the key. He instantly falls in with their plans, at which he had previously looked ask- ance.] PIETRO PAOLO. Come, let us now conspire ! FIAMETTA. And me, as well. PIETRO PAOLO. \ For Ugolino now the clock of doom '\ Midnight is tolling forth, and dead his hope ! \ Ended his day, and blackest night swoops down • Upon Capodimonte's realm. A fire Is burning on its mountain tops that will ■ Not out until the wheezy world 's aflame. [Baldessare passes at the back, spying.] RICCARDO. Capodimonte is no more; its hills Shall crush its valleys, and its towers crumble; Against it will I lead vast multitudes, Like Heaven's angels irresistible. Till with its petty crown my brow upon Another Alexander storm I hence, Conquering and unconquered, till the world's Bejewelled diadem of empery Imperially I put by — with scorn. [Sidonia enters and stands listening.] FIAMETTA. And I, clad in bright armour, like the sun In noonday summer splendour, on a steed Caparisoned with glory, in my right A two-edged sword as fierce as any torch. And in mine other hand the banner you Have blest, shall head the swarm, trampling on king- doms O 'er Europe to the North, o 'er Asia Unto Zipango, and to Africa. The crowns of Caesars shall be yours to play At quoits with* RICCARDO. You shall be mine empress dear, Upon my right hand sitting, empires round Your proud sweet throat, and on each finger wear A principality. The globe shall be Your bauble. PIETRO PAOLO. And from me, most gracious lord, Deign to accept such treasures as I have Filched year by year and hoarded, till you hold The habitable world as yours indeed, And from the haughty summit of old earth Your streaming ensign threatens Heaven itself. RICCARDO. And you shall be my grand vizier, and he, This Ugolino, fetch your glittering arms Ere you clasp battle as a bride, and when You come again with victory on your brow 'T is he shall cleanse your greaves of clotted gore. 3ID0NIA. Oh, what is this too dreadful speech I hear ! Do you not know on every side they listen ? Shrewd Baldassare each least word of youfs Holds in his ear, to give it forth so soon As he with Ugolino *s met. What then Will be your doom, your dreadful doom at last? I 've heard his fatal murmurings. You all upon some too tall tree shall hang Crimson and pendulous, like the month's cherries ; O Fiametta, Pietro Paolo, you, And poor Riccardo, this your dreadful doom ! PIETRO PAOLO. Why should I care? RICCARDO. And why should I ? FIAMETTA. And I Am sure no sweeter cherry will be found Than I shall make. PIETRO PAOLO. It 's that for Ugolino ! [Snaps his fingers.] RICCARDO. His poor authority sets me asmil^. FIAMETTA. spring, the spider, has stung me in my soul, And all my blood leaps in the tarentelle. Come, let us dance a while — one moment, wait. [To Sidonia.] We cannot dance while your \vhite face is long. Come, laugh a little with us now. [She crowns Sidonia with the chaplet; the Dryad eur ters and dances. Sidonia leaps up, crying,] SIDONIA. I am a child of the great god Pan ! [All dance.] RICCARDO. And I! FIAMETTA. And I! PIETRO PAOLO. And I! SIDONIA. I am his maid ; RICCARDO. And I his man; FIAMETTA. I am his daughter! PIETRO PAOLO. And I his son! OMNES. We are his children, every one ! SIDONIA. All in the month of May, say I ! RICCARDO. And I ! , FIAMETTA. And I! PIETRO PAOLO. And I! [The dance ends and they seat themselves; exit the Dryad.] SIDONIA. My heart between its monuments of snow Holds you, Riccardo ; yet, years leave me wise : I fain must see in Pietro's glistering hoard Of gems and gold the solace that may soothe Importunate Time. Yet needs must I conspire With you. I have at home a cimetar — My sire won it — with which methinks I choose To lop off Ugolino's crest, that he May stand no taller than we common folk. RICCARDO. Sidonia, there 's a halberd in my house Would reach the frame of one upon a throne As with a hook, and once it haled him down To us — haled down in kindness, understand — He 'd be our height. My fluttering pulse responds To yours. Though Fiametta long ago Let my best love, like proffered violets, Lie on her virgin breast ; yet you I love As well. And these the lines I wrote for you. Dear mistress of the milding nights of May: [Sings or s peaks, \ Out of the dusk comes my lady fair. Out of the dark as the mist rolls by, Dusk on her brow, mist in her hair Evening in her eye. Tender her voice as the wood-bird's note, Silvery sweet through the twiHt rest ; Sunset her cheek, moon-rise her throat, Fleurs-de-lys her breast. DarkHng and bright as the starHght clear, Wistful with hope as the new moon's ray, Cometh my own, cometh my dear Lady of the May ! FIAMETTA. The sweet strains breathe of roses 'neath the moon, Riccardo mine, and to Sidonia And her soft darkling splendour, they are as The stars to night. Would that they were for me ! RICCARDO. Fiametta's loveliness is of the sun. [Kneeling before her.] FIAMETTA. Ah, your least singing word, O poet and lover Of mine, brings me the beauty of all time Sung by all poets ; for their radiant songs Are pearl and sard, jasper and chrysoprase, By music delicately borne, as when The fairy blossoms of the almond float In amorous zephyrs lingeringly down. Being a poet's inspiration 's sweet ! [She sighs.] Love songs and war songs : I 've a poniard here. [To Pietro.] Canst not a poem, too, Pietro mine? If not In carven words, why — deeds are better still. PIETRO PAOLO. I have a battle-mace, heavy and spiky. My grandsir wielded in the holy wars Against the Paynim ; deeds I '11 offer you. While for you, Fiametta, cherish I Tenderest aflfection, — still, my heart-strings yield More wistful melody when Sidonia comes. If but the twilight dusk of her sweet hair, Like lilies of the nights, may sweep across My welcoming face, such tunefulness is mine As hath the viol when some seraph plays. [Sidonia and Fiametta embrace, and Rice ar do and Pietro Paolo,] FIAMETTA. And next Riccardo, you ! SIDONIA. And you, my dear, I hold next Pietro Paolo's honeyed self. PIETRO PAOLO. [Td Riccardo.] You with Sidonia share my very soul ! RICCARDO. Fiametta alone surpasses you. . . . Now let me grasp my halberd in my hand And pull this Ugolino down. FIAMETTA, And I will shear his poll ! PIETRO PAOLO. And I his pomp Of bearing will make small with my great mace ! SIDONIA. The while I pierce his boasty pride ! RICCARDO. Then come And arm ourselves ; upon the castle move : ' [Enter Ugolino, silently, at the back,] 'T is a good deed, and better kindly done ; So, one embrace, sweet, lasting — and to work ! We shall have Ugolino's thanks anon. [They embrace, with mutuality.] Ah, sacred moment in a blessed day ! Why spells it not a long eternity ? PIETRO PAOLO AND SIDONIA. Why not? RICCARDO AND FIAMETTA. Why not? UGOLINO. [Sardonically, as he comes down.] Why not? What is 't I see? Two wondrous pairs of pirates have I here, Cooing full featly in the vernal wood. My friends, my loving friends, what bliss Must this be that you find in ladies' eyes, In sleek and ready-lying courtier's tongues I Ladies, it gives me joy to see your love. For me there is no stirring of the blood, No heart at gaze nor lure of Spring. But you Do mock me in my loveless lonely state. So be it. These Arcadian joys of yours May serve you well when I have cast you off. PIETRO PAOLO. Have we not served you well, my lord and prince ? UGOLINO. So well that I '11 be served by you no more. I do suspect you all. [They laugh.] You dare to laugh 1 My premonition lacks some open flaw, A single crime to touch and say : For this I banish you. I have endured you long. , [Enter Baldassare.] BALDASSARE. Oh, sire, the faithful watch you bade me keep Upon these four is ended here. They all Are guilty of high treason 'gainst your life, And of conspiracy against your throne ; Now all their heads stand forfeit to the State. You bade me watch them. I have heard such words As might be seen to fall like eager blades Upon their speaking throats. UGOLINO. O faithful one, Thou darkling friend of melancholy kings, Now do I see them as they are. The truth Doth bum within me, and I know their hearts. [To the four,] Now shall you bare your sacrificial throats Against the headsman's edge. For you must die. Thrice proven traitors to my princely self, And to Capodimonte utterly Faithless. My vision now grows clear. Quick, get you gone upon the castle road ; Tarry not now, for in the deepest deep The dungeons under, shall you rot, until The day is come wherein your heads shall off ! RICCARDO. My head is small, your Grace, and little holds To make me sigh for losing it, but I Shall truly feel aggrieved must I go in And lose the May Day sun within the house. FIAMETTA. Far rather lose my head, O sire, than lose The golden locks that cover it. But — oh! How can you think of housing us this day With such a sun and such a sky above? PIETRO PAOLO. My locks and head alike may go from me And I should laugh — if laughter were When the head *s missing. But lock me up While the birds sing! I '11 none of it— not I. SIDONIA. I think we have not heard your Grace aright ; You can not mean that we must within walls Spend any part of May Day ? Let it go Until to-morrow. Then take off our heads. UGOLINO. Now, Baldassare, draw your gloomy blade. [To the four.] Now, since you value not these empty heads And set such store by out-of-doors, he shall Behead you all, and all of you remain Dissevered under the sun and sky for ever. How like you that ? You care not ? Mad, — all mad ! PIETRO PAOLO. I see it now. Your Grace would emulate Some mighty tyrant of an ancient tale And tread in blood a festal path to joy. Be Nero, sire, and let me offer thee A chaplet for thine entrance to the games ; Be Nero, and go garlanded with death. [He takes the chaplet from Sidonia 's head, and offers it to Ugolino. The Prince hesitates a moment, then wa^es it away.] UGOLINO. You make too great a festival, my friends, Of this your sudden and untimely end. [Sidonia rises and takes the chaplet from Pietro Paolo.] SIDONIA. Now by great Pan, who, as the legends say Doth rule in Italy till May Day night, You show us but a pallid courtesy. Since we are dead already, most dread lord. Shall we not for the moment have our play? You were not happy in our living love, And now shall we not find you gay with flowers When you have rid yourself of us ? [She offers the chaplet, which Ugolino takes in his hands.] UGOLINO. It seems that I have cause to smile in this ; Your treasons and your mockeries are done ; At last you give me joy. My mockery Is this, to deck myself with coronals Now that I rid myself of you, since all Of you are dead already. [He crowns hifnself with the chaplet. The Dryad ap^ pears, dancing before him; his face relaxes; he smiles; his body sways, and he begins to dance.] Pan's is the prettiest play that's played! [As he speaks, the other four leap up and join in the dance.] FIAMETTA AND RICCARDO. Say I! SIDONIA AND PlETRO PAOLO. Say I! UGOLINO. And I ! PIETRO PAOLO. I am his man ! FIAMETTA. And I his maid. SIDONIA. And I his lass. RICCARDO. And I his lad. OMNES. The loveliest children that ever he had ! UGOLINO* All in the month of May, say I. SIDONIA AND PIETRO PAOLO. And I. FIAMETTA AND RICCARDO. And I. UGOLINO. And I. [The Dryad dances off, bringing Ugolino face to face with Baldassare, who stands expectant, with drawn sword. The glow of sunset comes over the scene.] BALDASSARE. When shall my work begin, your Grace ? UGOLINO. [Mildly.] Why now disturb conviviahty, While vernal effervescence stirs the blood, And we are fed on honey of the May ? These are my friends, affectionately disposed To me, as I to them, chiefly in this : That they admit me to their company In all good fellowship and joy, despite My recent yearnings for their hearts' best blood. BALDASSARE. And all my lonely spying and dark proofs, -^ Are these to waste, and justice be no more? My thirsty blade has earned this treasonous blood, And shall it thirst for ever ? Let me work. grant me this, dear lord. UGOLINO. Lord me no lords ! We 're equal here in nature, human all. With lot and share in all the world 's best good. Crown me this thirsty-bladed man, and let The glancing lights of May dance round his head. He has been faithful ; let him not be sad. BALDASSARE. [Kneeling.] 1 write this mockery on a vengeful heart. [Fiametfa takes the chaplet from Ugolino and stands over the kneeling headsman. Enter Ruffo and Bef- fana, who stand watching.] FIAMETTA. Yours be it to see life as one great whole, The -rock, the tree, the river, and the field. The cloud, the beast, and their blood-brother, man, Drenched by one dew and rain, warmed by one sun And sky, blown by one wind, wafting them on One fate between the two eternities. [She crowns him with the chaplet. Both the Dryads enter, dancing before him, and he dances slowly and grotesquely after them, chanting.] BALDASSARE. I sang the scaffold made, The muffled drum, The shivering culprit come, The falling blade; The great bell 's weary toll, The passing soul ; But now the firstling bud Doth sting my blood With finer throbbing than the blade Hath ever made; And love within my breast Hath heartier zest And deeper woundings than the block may meet — Love and the Spring are sweet. [The others fall in behind Baldassare as he chants, swinging around the stage in a processional, Baldas- sare at the close of his speech falling in zvith the Dryad of the May Day, Ugolino with the Dryad of the May Night, and the others in couples. RICCARDO AND FIAMETTA. Love and the Spring are two of the three— PIETRO PAOLO AND SIDONIA. Say I, RUFFO AND BEFFANA. And I, UGOLINO. AndL Station is folly ! PIETRO PAOLO. Wealth, vanity; RUFFO AND BEFFANA. Labour is sorrow ! OMNES. Pan is our king 1 Sing hey for Pan and Love and Spring, All in the month of May, sing hey, Say I, and I, and L [As they dance around the stage, the procession is les- sened as couple by couple drops off, and disappears among the trees. As the last couple makes its exit, Pan is disclosed laughing. The lights dim to night as he speaks the epilogue.] PAN. Gone is the day with all its mirth and madness ; Come is the night, and promise of fulfilment; How have they fought, these men and e'en the im- mortals, 'Gainst the soft promptings of their master. Love ! What is the worth of princes and their power, What can avail much wealth and secret hoarding. What mean the blade and bravery of the warrior, Weighed 'gainst the whisper of their master. Love? Even the gay plot wherewith is sought the woman. Even the sweet grace whereby the maid escapeth. Even the dear thought of wistfulness and beauty. What all their meaning, uninspired by Love? This is the key whereto all doors stand open, This the one spring wherefrom pure water welleth, This the fine warp through which man's joy is woven. This earth 's one heaven, gently ruled by Love. Gone is the day, with all its woe and warring ; Come is the night and promise of the morrow ; Earth rests and smiles beneath Love's blest dominion — Love, friend and servant of the great god Pan. CURTAIN, i i hi : \ : :*»;*• UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, BERKELEY THIS BOOK IS DtTE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW Tinnks not returned on time are subject to a fine of demand iSay be renewed if application is made before expiration of loan period. Hj iA'4f ii»'«f W»^ 15m-4,'24 385048 UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA UBRARY