Читать книгу The Mortal Gods, and Other Plays - Olive Tilford Dargan - Страница 5

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Scene: A grove in the outskirts of a town in Goldusan. Semi-tropical verdure. Rocks, shrubbery, trees, at convenience. A hidden cascade mumbles upper right, not loud enough to disturb conversation. At upper left, the pillared and vine-wreathed entrance to a mansion. A wall, rear, partly hidden by foliage. Paths lead off, right and left, lower, under trees. It is evening, and the grove is lit for revel. Gay flocks of people pass, then Hernda and Megario enter lower right.

Meg. Unsoft as winter! Thou hast brought thy north, With thee, a frigid shade, here where the hours Are poppy-fingered, and their dreaming breasts Unshuttered as the summer!

Her. Is it true, This joy, that smiles as though its fountained heart Could not be emptied?

Meg. True as that I love you.

Her. But if it is no mask, why should revolt O'ercloud your borders?

Meg. There's no just revolt.

Her. But Chartrien said——

Meg. Are you yet poison-tinct With that old rebel tale his credulous heart Dressed new in his while honor till both grew One sooty treason?

Her. Where is Chartrien now?

Meg. Wherever he may hatch a discontent And cluck us trouble. But of late he spurs His heart of venture, and dartles to our towns To stir the scum there.

Her. Scum? You've such a thing In Cordiaz' happy land? I'll see that scum. It breathes, does 't not? Has eyes, and tongue? Can answer if one speaks?

Meg. You're merry, princess.

Her. As graves at night. All is not open here. I shall go farther,—knock at doors where Truth Keeps honest house, not gowned for holiday.

Meg. One want we have,—that you will stay with us And be the fairy soul of Goldusan. Then must our land, so measureless endeared, Be cherished as the darling care of Heaven, Where storm may breathe but as a twittering bird That fears to shake its nest.

Her. You've only words! Words like these thousand-thousand smiles that seem Half real and half painted,—teasing, strange,— All feeding one illusion round my way Till even the ground unqualifies beneath me And makes each step a question.

Meg. 'Tis the doubt You look through that transforms our face Of truth and paints us vaguely hued. O, for our many smiles, wilt not give one?

Her. Nay, there's a darkness fringing on this grove. It creeps above the walls, it touches me, And makes me shudder winding at my feet!

Meg. You've sipped of fancy at a witch's knee! [Plucks a flower] But see,—your serpent shadows nurture this. Confess to its perfection, and be shriven Of any thought less fair.

Her. Oh, if I might! No, keep it. Let us find our friends.

Meg. [Drops the flower] My hand Defiles it for you.

Her. Nay——

Meg. Where is the fan I carried yester-night?

Her. 'Tis—lost.

Meg. 'Tis burnt!

Her. What wind's your gossip?

Meg. Truth paused at my ear. But, princess, if there's any charm will draw Your eyes to me unburdened of their hate, I'll find it though it lie beneath the ruin Of every other hope!

Her. I'll leave you, sir.

Meg. Forgive me! Love will speak,—ay, storm its need. Though each vain word pile up the barricade That fends the heart desired.

Her. My lord, no hate Is in that barrier. I'm free of that.

Meg. Thanks for that little much. Your highness speaks Of journeying. What can I say to gild My own Peonia till it distant gleams The gem of pilgrimage? There you will see How earth is dressed when the devoted sun Is pledged to her adorning. Trees that mass Their bloom in forest heavens, giving her A nearer sky. Unthwarted vines that scarf Her mountain shoulders with their pendent clouds. Lakes where a dreamer's bark may drift unoared And chance no port save beauty. Everywhere The dart and wave of color that would beckon A neighbor planet looking once this way. Come, be my guest. One day! I'll ask no more.

Her. I do not know. Señora Ziralay Will be my guide. I go with her.

Meg. With her?

Her. What is 't? I touch the shadow. You are not Her friend?

Meg. She hates in secret, while her smile Levies the world for love.

Her. I'll hate where she does, And know my soul is safe.

Meg. Her husband holds By love and purse to Cordiaz, but she Is a LeVal.

Her. LeVal? And kin to—him?

Meg. Rejan? His sister. And I know her nature Is tinted as her blood, whatever hue It wears at court.

Her. A sister to the man That I gave up to death. And I have dared To love her—take her kiss——

Meg. [Cautioning] She's here.

[Enter, lower right, Señora Ziralay and Guildamour]

Her. Señora! We spoke of you.

Señ. And with such gloom?

Meg. No, no!

Señ. It lingers yet, my lord. Do I in absence cast Such knitted shadows?

Meg. Safely asked of us, Who know your bright philosophy. How fares That magic broom with which you'd sweep the earth Of every ill? Is 't still invincible?

Señ. Much worn of late, my lord, as you should know, Who give it work.

Meg. You'd leave us not one grief To keep us praying and rebuilding Heaven? Abolish Death perhaps?

Señ. True mock! I would Except the death that's like a waiting bed When not another turn may mend the day; When sleep is sweeter than the thumbèd book, And hearth-near voices drowse like waves that lap Shores unconcerned. Now we are murdered, all.

Meg. No, no. Señora!

Gui. Ay! Do we not vaunt, And set it rarely down, a thing to note, If age unmoor the life-disusèd raft, For th' chartless cruise?

Señ. Now we go hurried out, With half our dreams unpacked, and earth made poor With a few grains of dust where should have risen Our wisest years in flower.

Meg. Fate, fate, Señora!

Señ. What's fate but ignorance? And not always that Comes hobbling with excuse. Sometimes a man, Whose eyes fling lances at the foes of Life, Is knouted from the world——

Meg. No more, I pray! This is a festal night. Reserve your sermon For our next fast.

[A musical group plays softly under trees left. Enter lower right, Hudibrand, Cordiaz, Rubirez, Vardas, Ziralay and others]

Hud. Here, daughter? You've been sought.

Cor. The search was mine, your highness. I would beg A grace of you.

Her. You grant one as you beg, Your majesty. I'll not do less than give Your own again. But pray you name it, sir.

Cor. This garden where our amity has borne Its fairest blossom shall be called henceforth The Grove of Peace, and we would beg your highness To queen our christening.

Her. A queenly part, And royally I thank you, but I'll play it With humblest prayer that Heaven may keep unbroken These new-sworn bonds between my land and yours.

Cor. So pray we all.

Her. Is this our scene?

Cor. Not here. Come you this way, my friends. We'll cast the wine To yon cascade, and let the waters bear it Down to my capital.

[All go off upper right, except two officers, who remain centre, and a guard who walks to and fro by wall rear, sometimes visible, sometimes hidden by the wood and rocks]

First Off. This peace will prove As stout as any spider's thread that swings In a blowing rain. Fah!

Second Off. Climb what hill you please, You see the rebels' smoke.

First Off. But where in name Of magic does Bolderez get his gold? The rebels we pick up have lost no meals.

Second Off. Enough he gets it. Goldusan sleeps well. Bolderez is so near that if his men Were eagles they could pick out Cordiaz' eyes And he'd not wake to miss 'em.

First Off. Cordiaz Is not asleep, but so bedimmed and fooled By a thievish Cabinet that what he sees Takes any name they give it.

Second Off. He is old.

First Off. Ah, there you hit it. Warriors should die young. When age unsoldiers them their field-worn hearts Have no defence against a crafty peace, And falling power will seize on any prop Be 't foul or fair, to keep on legs.

Second Off. My faith! His crutches are so villanous, a fall Were better than his gait.

[Enter Ziralay, lower right]