ACT I.

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ORIGINAL PLAYS

by

W. S. GILBERT.

New York:

Scribner, Armstrong, & Co.

1876.

Stereotyped and printed by

Rand, Avery, and Company,

117 Franklin Street,

Boston.

_NOTE._

_The Story upon which ‘The Palace of Truth’ is founded is probably as

old as the ‘Arabian Nights.’ ‘The Princess’ is a respectful parody of

Mr. Tennyson’s exquisite poem. It has been generally held, I believe,

that if a dramatist uses the mere outline of an existing story for

dramatic purposes, he is at liberty to describe his play as “original.”_

_W. S. GILBERT._

_London, Nov. 18, 1875._

_CONTENTS._

PAGE

_Note_ 5

_Contents_ 7

THE WICKED WORLD 9

PYGMALION AND GALATEA 73

CHARITY 135

THE PRINCESS 211

THE PALACE OF TRUTH 265

TRIAL BY JURY 341

_Transcriber’s Note_

THE WICKED WORLD:

_An Original Fairy Comedy_,

IN THREE ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

FAIRIES.

ETHAIS MR. KENDAL.

PHYLLON MR. ARNOTT.

LUTIN (_a Serving Fairy_) MR. BUCKSTONE.

SELENE (_a Fairy Queen_) MISS MADGE ROBERTSON.

DARINE MISS AMY ROSELLE.

ZAYDA MISS M. LITTON.

LEILA MISS HARRISON.

NEODIE MISS HENRI.

LOCRINE MISS FRANCIS.

MORTALS.

SIR ETHAIS MR. KENDAL.

SIR PHYLLON MR. ARNOTT.

LUTIN (_Sir Ethais’s Henchman_) MR. BUCKSTONE.

_SCENE: IN FAIRY LAND._

⁂ _The action is comprised within the space of twenty-four hours._

PROLOGUE.

_Spoken by MR. BUCKSTONE._

The Author begs you’ll kind attention pay

While I explain the object of his play.

You have been taught, no doubt, by those professing

To understand the thing, that Love’s a blessing:

Well, _he_ intends to teach you the reverse--

That Love is not a blessing, but a curse!

But pray do not suppose it’s his intent

To do without this vital element--

His drama _would_ be in a pretty mess!

With quite as fair a prospect of success,

Might a dispensing chemist in his den

Endeavor to dispense with oxygen.

Too powerful an agent to pooh-pooh,

There will be Love enough I warrant you:

But as the aim of every play’s to show

That Love’s essential to all men below,

_He_ uses it to prove, to all who doubt it,

How well all men--but he--can do without it.

To prove his case (a poor one, I admit),

He begs that with him you will kindly flit

To a pure fairy-land that’s all his own,

Where mortal love is utterly unknown.

Whose beings, spotless as new-fallen snow,

Know nothing of the Wicked World below.

These gentle sons and daughters of the air,

Safe, in their eyrie, from temptation’s snare,

Have yet one little fault I must confess--

_An overweening sense of righteousness_.

As perfect silence, undisturbed for years,

Will breed at length a humming in the ears,

So from their very purity within

Arise the promptings of their only sin.

Forgive them! No? Perhaps you will relent

When you appreciate their punishment!

But prithee be not led too far away,

By the hack author of a mere stage-play:

It’s easy to affect this cynic tone,

But, let me ask you, had the world ne’er known

Such Love as you, and I, and he, must mean--

Pray where would you, or I, or he, have been?

THE WICKED WORLD.

ACT I.

_SCENE--Fairy Land. A beautiful, but fanciful landscape, which

is supposed to lie on the upper side of a cloud. The cloud is

suspended over the earth, a portion of which (representing

“a bird’s-eye view” of a mediæval city), is seen, far below,

through a rent or gap in the cloud._

_As the curtain rises ZAYDA is discovered standing in a

thoughtful attitude, contemplating the world at her feet. To

her enters DARINE._

_Dar._ My sister, Zayda, thou art deep in thought,

What quaint conjecture fills thy busy brain?

_Zay._ Oh! sister, it’s my old and favorite theme--

That wonderful and very wicked world

That rolls in silent cycles at our feet!

_Dar._ In truth a fruitful source of wonderment!

_Zay._ Fruitful indeed--a harvest without end!

The world--the wicked world! the wondrous world!

I love to sit alone and gaze on it,

And let my fancy wander through its towns,

Float on its seas and rivers--interchange

Communion with its strange inhabitants:

People its cities with fantastic shapes,

Fierce, wild, barbaric forms--all head and tail,

With monstrous horns, and blear and bloodshot eyes,

As all should have who deal in wickedness!

_Enter PHYLLON._

Oh, Phyllon! picture to thyself a town

Peopled with men and women! At each turn,

Men--wicked men--then, farther on, more men,

Then women--then again more men--more men--

Men, women, everywhere--all ripe for crime,

All ghastly in the lurid light of sin!

_Enter SELENE._

_Phyl._ In truth, dear sister, if man’s face and form

Were a true index to his character,

He were a hideous thing to look upon;

But man, alas! is formed as we are formed.

False from the first, he comes into the world

Bearing a smiling lie upon his face,

That he may cheat ere he can use his tongue.

_Zay._ Oh! I have heard these things, but heed them not.

I like to picture him as he should be,

Unsightly and unclean. I like to pair

Misshapen bodies with misshapen minds.

_Sel._ Dost thou not know that every soul on earth

Hath in our ranks his outward counterpart?

_Dar._ His outward counterpart!

_Sel._ Tis even so;

Yes, on that world--that very wicked world--

Thou--I--and all who dwell in fairy land,

May find a parallel identity:

A perfect counterpart in outward form;

So perfect that, if it were possible

To place us by these earthly counterparts,

No man on earth, no fairy in the clouds,

Could tell which was the fairy--which the man!

_Zay._ Is there _no_ shade of difference?

_Phyl._ Yes, one;

For we are absolutely free from sin,

While all our representatives on earth

Are stained with every kind of infamy.

_Dar._ Are _all_ our counterparts so steeped in sin?

_Phyl._ All, in a greater or a less degree.

_Zay._ What, even mine?

_Phyl._ Alas!

_Zay._ Oh, no--not mine!

_Phyl._ All men and women sin.

_Dar._ I wonder what

My counterpart is doing now?

_Sel._ Don’t ask.

No doubt, some fearful sin!

_Dar._ And what are sins?

_Sel._ Evils of which we hardly know the names.

There’s vanity--a quaint, fantastic vice,

Whereby a mortal takes much credit for

The beauty of his face and form, and claims

As much applause for loveliness as though

He had designed himself! Then jealousy--

A universal passion--one that claims

An absolute monopoly of love,

Based on the reasonable principle

That no one merits other people’s love

So much as--every soul on earth by turns!

Envy--that grieves at other men’s success,

As though success, however placed, were not

A contribution to one common fund!

Ambition, too, the vice of clever men

Who seek to rise at others’ cost; nor heed

Whose wings they cripple, so that they may soar.

Malice--the helpless vice of helpless fools,

Who, as they can not rise, hold others down,

That they, by contrast, may appear to soar.

Hatred and avarice, untruthfulness,

Murder and rapine, theft, profanity--

Sins so incredible, so mean, so vast,

Our nature stands appalled when it attempts

To grasp their terrible significance.

Such are the vices of that wicked world!

_Enter ETHAIS, LOCRINE, NEODIE, LEILA, and other Fairies._

_Eth._ My brothers, sisters, Lutin has returned,

After a long delay, from yonder earth:

The first of all our race who has set foot

Upon that wicked world. See! he is here!

_Enter LUTIN._

_Sel._ Good welcome, Lutin, back to fairy land!

So thou hast been to earth?

_Lut._ I have indeed!

_Sel._ What hast thou seen there?

_Lut._ Better not inquire.

It is a very, very wicked world!

I went, obedient to our King’s command,

To meet him in mid-earth. He bade me go

And send both Ethais and Phyllon there.

_Eth._ Down to mid-earth?

_Lut._ Down to mid-earth at once.

He hath some gift, some priceless privilege

With which he would endow our fairy world;

And he hath chosen Phyllon and thyself

To bear his bounty to this home of ours.

_Zay._ Another boon? Why, brother Ethais,

What can our monarch give that we have not?

_Eth._ In truth, I can not say--’twould seem that we

Had reached the sum of fairy happiness!

_Sel._ But then we thought the same, before our King

Endowed us with the gift of melody;

And now, how tame our fairy life would seem

Were melody to perish from our land!

_Phyl._ Well said, Selene. Come, then, let’s away, (_going_)

And on our journey through the outer world

We will take note of its inhabitants,

And bring you fair account of all we see.

Farewell, dear sisters! [_Exeunt PHYLLON and ETHAIS._

_Sel._ Brothers, fare-you-well.

(_To LUTIN._)And thou hast really met a living man?

_Lut._ I have indeed--and living women too!

_Zay._ And thou hast heard them speak, and seen their ways,

And didst thou understand them when they spake?

_Lut._ I understand that what I understood

No fairy being ought to understand.

I see that almost every thing I saw

Is utterly improper to be seen.

Don’t ask for details--I’ve returned to you

With outraged senses and with shattered nerves,

I burn with blushes of indignant shame.

Read my experiences in my face,

My tongue shall wither ere it tell the tale.

It is a very, very wicked world!

_Dar._ But surely man can summon death at will;

Why should he live when he at will can die?

_Lut._ Why, that’s the most inexplicable thing.

I’ve seen upon that inconsistent globe--

With swords and daggers hanging at their sides,

With drowning seas and rivers at their feet,

With deadly poison in their very grasp,

And every implement of death at hand--

Men live--and live--and seem to like to live! [_Exit LUTIN._

_Dar._ How strangely inconsistent!

_Sel._ Not at all.

With all their misery, with all their sin,

With all the elements of wretchedness

That teem on that unholy world of theirs,

They have one great and ever glorious gift,

That compensates for all they have to bear--

The gift of Love! Not as we use the word,

To signify mere tranquil brotherhood;

But in some sense that is unknown to us.

Their love bears like relation to our own,

That the fierce beauty of the noonday sun

Bears to the calm of a soft summer’s eve.

It nerves the wearied mortal with hot life,

And bathes his soul in hazy happiness.

The richest man is poor who hath it not,

And he who hath it laughs at poverty.

It hath no conqueror. When death himself

Has worked his very worst, this love of theirs

Lives still upon the loved one’s memory.

It is a strange enchantment, which invests

The most unlovely things with loveliness.

The maiden, fascinated by this spell,

Sees every thing as she would have it be:

Her squalid cot becomes a princely home;

Its stunted shrubs are groves of stately elms;

The weedy brook that trickles past her door

Is a broad river fringed with drooping trees;

And of all marvels the most marvelous,

The coarse unholy man who rules her love

Is a bright being--pure as we are pure;

Wise in his folly--blameless in his sin;

The incarnation of a perfect soul;

A great and ever glorious demi-god!

_Dar._ Why, what have we in all our fairy land

To bear comparison with such a gift?

_Zay._ Oh! for one hour of such a love as that;

O’er all things paramount! Why, after all,

That wicked world is the true fairy land!

_Loc._ Why, who can wonder that poor erring man

Clings to the world, all poisoned though it be,

When on it grows this glorious antidote?

_Zay._ And may we never love as mortals love?

_Sel._ No; that can never be. Of earthly things

This love of theirs ranks as the earthiest.

’Tis necessary to man’s mode of life;

He could not bear his load of misery

But for the sweet enchantment at his heart

That tells him that he bears no load at all.

We do not need it in our perfect land.

Moreover, there’s this gulf ’twixt it and us:

Only a mortal can inspire such love;

And mortal foot can never touch our land.

_Zay._ But--is that so?

_Sel._ (_surprised_). Of course.

_Zay._ Yet I have heard

That we’ve a half-forgotten law which says,

That when a fairy quits his fairy home

To visit earth, those whom he leaves behind

May summon from the wicked world below

That absent fairy’s mortal counterpart;

And that that mortal counterpart may stay

In fairy land and fill the fairy’s place

Till he return. Is there not some such law?

_Sel._ And if there be, wouldst put that law in force?

(_horrified_).

_Zay._ No; not for all the love of all the world!

(_equally horrified_).

_Sel._ A man in fairy land! Most horrible!

He would exhale the poison of his soul,

And we should even be as mortals are,

Hating as man hates!

_Dar._ (_enthusiastically_). Loving as man loves!

(SEL. _looks reproachfully_).

Too horrible! Still--

_Sel._ Well!

_Dar._ I see a trace

Of wisdom lurking in this ancient law.

_Sel._ Where lurks this wisdom, then? I see it not.

_Dar._ (_with emphasis_). Man is a shameless being, steeped in sins

At which our stainless nature stands appalled;

Yet, sister, if we took this loathsome soul

From yonder seething gulf of infamy--

E’en but for one short day--and let him see

The beauty of our pure, unspotted lives,

He might return to his unhappy world,

And trumpet forth the strange intelligence:

“Those men alone are happy who are good.”

Then would the world immediately repent,

And sin and wickedness be known no more!

_Loc._ Association with so foul a thing

As man must needs be unendurable

To souls as pure and sinless as our own:

Yet, sister dear, it has occurred to me,

That his foul deeds, perchance, proceed from this--

That we have kept ourselves too much aloof,

And left him to his blind and wayward will.

_Zay._ Man is every thing detestable--

Base in his nature, base in thought and deed,

Loathsome beyond all things that creep and crawl!

Still, sister, I must own I’ve sometimes thought

That we who shape the fortunes of mankind,

And grant such wishes as are free from harm,

Might possibly fulfill our generous task

With surer satisfaction to himself

Had we some notion what these wishes were!

_Neo._ We give him every thing but good advice,

And that which most he needs do we withhold.

_Dar._ Oh! terrible, dear sister, to reflect,

That to _our_ cold and culpable neglect,

The folly of the world is chargeable!

_Sel._ To _our_ neglect!

_Zay._ It may in truth be so.

_Lei._ In very truth I’m sure that it is so.

_Sel._ Oh! horrible! It shall be so no more.

A light breaks over me! Their sin _is_ ours!

But there--’tis easy still to make amends.

A mortal _shall_ behold our blameless state,

And learn the beauties of a sinless life!

Come, let us summon mortal Ethais.

_Dar._ But--

_Sel._ Not a word--I am resolved to this.

_Neo._ But sister--

_Sel._ Well?

_Neo._ (_timidly_). Why summon only one?

_Sel._ Why summon more?

_Neo._ The world’s incredulous;

Let _two_ be brought into our blameless land,

Then should their wondrous story be received

With ridicule or incredulity,

One could corroborate the other.

_Dar._ Yes--

Phyllon has gone with Ethais. Let us call

The mortal counterpart of Phyllon too--

_Sel._ Two mortals--two unhappy men of sin

In this untainted spot!

_Loc._ Well, sister dear,

Two Heralds of the Truth will spread that Truth

At the least twice as rapidly as one.

_Sel._ Two miserable men! Why, _one_ alone

Will bring enough pollution in his wake,

To taint our happy land from end to end!

_Zay._ Then, sister, two won’t make the matter worse!

_Sel._ There’s truth in that. (_After a pause._)

The two _shall_ come to us.

We have deserved this fearful punishment;

Our power, I think, is limited to two?

_Lei._ Unfortunately.

_Sel._ Yes--more might be done

Had each of us a pupil to herself.

Now then to summon them. But, sisters all,

Show no repugnance to these wretched men;

Remember that, all odious though they be,

They are our guests; in common courtesy

Subdue your natural antipathies;

Be very gentle with them, bear with them,

Be kind, forbearing, tender, pitiful.

Receive them with that gentle sister love,

That forms the essence of our fairyhood;

Let no side-thought of their unholy lives

Intrude itself upon your charity;

Treat them as though they were what they will be

When they have seen how we shall be to them.

What is the form?

_Dar._ Two roses newly plucked

Should each in turn be cast upon the earth;

Then, as each rose is thrown, pronounce the name

Of him whose mortal self it typifies.

Here _are_ two roses plucked from yonder tree.

_Sel._ (_taking them_). Well then, fair rose, I name thee Ethais!--

Go, send thy mortal namesake to our cloud; (_throws rose to earth_).

’Tis done; conceal yourselves till they appear!

_The fairies conceal themselves. Hurried music; to which enter

SIR ETHAIS and SIR PHYLLON, hurriedly, over the edge of cloud,

as if impelled by some invisible and irresistible power from

below. SIR ETHAIS and SIR PHYLLON have their swords drawn. They

are dressed as barbaric knights, and, while bearing a facial

resemblance to their fairy counterparts, present as strong a

contrast as possible in their costume and demeanor._

_Sir Eth._ Why, help, help, help!

_Sir Phy._ The devil seize us all!

Why, what strange land is this? How came we here?

_Sir Eth._ How came we here? Why, who can answer that

So well as thou?

_Sir Phy._ As I?

_Sir Eth._ Yes, cur; as thou!

This is some devil’s game of thy design,

To scare me from the task I set myself

When we crossed swords.

_Sir Phy._ I use no sorcery.

A whirlwind bore me to this cursed spot;

But whence it came I neither know nor care.

_Sir Eth._ There--gag thy lying tongue; it matters not,

Or here or there we’ll fight our quarrel out.

Come! call thy devils; let them wait at hand

And when I’ve done with thee I’ll do with them.

(_They fight. The fairies watch the combat unobserved with great

interest._)

_Dar._ What are they doing?

_Sel._ It’s some game of skill.

It’s very pretty.

_Dar._ Very. (_Knights pause._) Oh, they’ve stopped.

_Phy._ Come, come--on guard. (_Fight resumed._)

_Zay._ Now they begin again.

_Eth._ (_Sees fairies, who have gradually surrounded them._)

Hold! we are overlooked. (_ETHAIS, who has turned for a moment in

saying this, is severely wounded by PHYLLON._)

_Sel._ You may proceed.

We like it much.

_Dar._ You do it very well--

Begin again.

_Eth._ Black curses on that thrust!

I am disabled. Ladies, bind my wound;

And if it please you still to see us fight,

We’ll fight for those bright eyes and cherry lips

Till one or both of us shall bite the dust.

_Phy._ Hold! call a truce till we return to earth--

Here are bright eyes enough for both of us.

_Eth._ I don’t know that! Well, there--till we return.

(_Shaking hands._)

But once again on earth, we will take up

Our argument where it was broken off,

And let thy devils whirl me where they may,

I’ll reach conclusion and corollary.

_Dar._ (_looking at PHYLLON_). Oh, fairyhood!

How wonderfully like our Phyllon!

_Sel._ (_looking at ETHAIS_). Yes.

And see--how strangely like our Ethais.

Thou hast a gallant carriage, gentle knight. (_Sighing._)

_Zay._ How very, very like our Ethais.

_Eth._ It’s little wonder that I’m like myself;

Why, I am he.

_Sel._ No, not _our_ Ethais. (_Sighing._)

_Eth._ In truth, I am the Ethais of all

Who are as gentle and as fair as thou.

_Sel._ That’s bravely said; thou hast a silver tongue;

Why! what can gods be like if these be men.

(_During this dialogue, DARINE shows by her manner that she takes

great interest in ETHAIS._)

Say, dost thou come from earth or heaven?

_Eth._ (_gallantly putting his arm round them_).

I think I’ve come from earth to heaven.

_Sel._ (_to DARINE with delight_). Oh! didst thou hear?

He comes from earth to heaven! No, Ethais,

We are but fairies--this, our native home.

Our fairy-land rests on a cloud which floats

Hither and thither, as the breezes will;

At times a mighty city’s at our feet,

At times a golden plain, and then the sea,

Dotted with ships and rocks and sunny isles.

We see the world; yet saving that it is

A very wicked world, we know it not--

We hold no converse with its denizens;

But on the lands o’er which our island hangs,

We shed fair gifts of plenty and of peace--

Health and contentment--charity--goodwill;

Drop tears of love upon the thirsty earth,

And shower fair waters on the growing grain.

This is our mission.

_Eth._ ’Tis a goodly one!

I’d give my sword--ay, and my sword-arm too,

If thou wouldst anchor for a year or so

O’er yonder home of mine. But tell me, now,

Does every cloud that hovers o’er our heads

Bear in its bosom such a wealth of love?

_Sel._ Alas! Sir Ethais, we are too few

To work the good that we could wish to work.

Thou hast seen black and angry thunder-clouds

That spit their evil fire at flocks and herds,

And shake with burly laughter as they watch

The trembling shepherds count their shriveled dead?

These are our enemies, sir knight, and thine.

They sow the seeds of pestilence and death--

May heaven preserve thee from their influence!

_Eth._ Amen to that!

_Phy._ But tell us, gentle maid,

Why have you summoned us?

_Sel._ Because we seek

To teach you truths that now ye wot not of;

Because we know that you are very frail,

Poor, blind, weak, wayward mortals--willing reeds,

Swayed right and left by every tempting wind;

And we are pure, and very, very brave,

Having no taste for trivial solaces (_taking Ethais’ hand_);

Scorning such idle joys as we have heard

Appeal most strongly to such men as you;

And we have cherished earnest hope that we,

By the example of our sacred lives,

May teach you to abjure such empty joys,

May send you back to earth, pure, childlike men,

To teach your mothers, sisters, and your wives,

And those perchance (_sighing_) who are to be your wives!

That there are fairy maidens in the clouds,

Whose gentle mode of thought and mode of life

They would do well to imitate. We would

That every maid on earth were such as we!

(_Placing her arms round his neck_).

_Eth._ In truth we would that every maiden were,--

(_Aside_) Except our mothers, sisters, and our wives!

_Sel._ If you will be our pupils, you must give

Some token of submission to our will,

No doubt you have some form of fealty?

_Eth._ When man desires to show profound respect--

To indicate most forcibly his own

Inferiority, he always puts

His arm round the respected object’s waist,

And drawing her (or him) towards him, thus,

Places a very long and tender kiss

On his (or her) face--as the case may be.

_Sel._ That form is not in vogue in fairy land;

Still, as it holds on earth, no doubt ’twill have

Far greater weight with you poor sons of earth,

Than any formula we could impose.

_Phy._ Its weight is overpowering. (_About to kiss._)

_Sel._ But stay!

We would not _wrest_ this homage from you, sir;

Or give it willingly, or not at all.

_Eth._ Most willingly, fair maid, we give it you.

_Sel._ Good! Then proceed.

(_ETH. kisses SEL. and PHYL. kisses ZAY._)

_Eth._ There! does it not convey

A pleasant sense of influence?

_Sel._ It does.

Some earthly forms seem rational enough.

Why Ethais, what ails thee? (_ETHAIS staggers._)

_Eth._ Why, I’m faint

From loss of blood. My wound--here, take this scarf,

And bind it round my arm--so--have a care!

There, that will do till I return to earth;

Then, Lutin, who’s a fairly skillful leech,

Shall doctor it.

_Sel._ (_amazed_). Didst thou say Lutin?

_Eth._ Yes,

He is my squire--a poor, half-witted churl,

_Enter LUTIN unobserved._

Who shudders at the rustling of a leaf;

A strange, odd, faithful, loving, timid knave;

More dog than man, and, like a well-thrashed hound,

He loves his master’s voice, and dreads it, too.

Why, here he is! (_In intense astonishment._)

_Lut._ Who is this insolent,

A mortal here in fairy land?

_Loc._ Yes, two!

_Lut._ Oh, this is outrage!

_Eth._ (_crossing to him_). Why, thou scurvy knave,

How cam’st thou here? Thou didst not come with us!

What is the meaning of this masquerade?

[_Alluding to LUTIN’s dress._

Be off at once; if I could use my arm,

I’d whip thee for this freak, but as it is,

I’ll hand thee over to that wife of thine;

Her hand is heavier than mine. (_To Sel._) This churl

(So rumor saith) is mated to a shrew;

A handsome, ranting, jealous, clacking shrew;

And he, by means of this tom-fool disguise,

Has ’scaped his home to play the truant here;

_Lut._ Who are these men?

_Sel._ The mortal counterparts

Of Ethais and Phyllon. Look at them! (_Crosses to LUTIN._)

Dost thou not love them?

_Lut._ (_indignantly_). No!

_Sel._ How very strange!

Why we all loved them from the very first.

_Lut._ Is this indeed the truth?

_Dar._ It is indeed.

Obedient to our queen’s command, we have

Subdued our natural antipathies.

_Zay._ They are our guests, all odious though they be,

(_Takes PHYLLON’S hand._)

And we must bid them welcome to our home,

As if e’en now they were what they will be

When they have seen what we shall be to them. (_Kissing his hand._)

_Lut._ Be warned in time, and send these mortals hence;

Why, don’t you see that in each word they speak,

They breathe of love?

_Sel._ (_enthusiastically_). They do!

_Lut._ Why Love’s the germ

Of every sin that stalks upon the earth:

The brawler fights for love--the drunkard drinks

To toast the girl who loves him, or to drown

Remembrance of the girl who loves him not!

The miser hoards his gold to purchase love.

The liar lies to gain, or wealth, or love;

And if for wealth, it is to purchase love.

The very footpad nerves his coward arm

To stealthy deeds of shame by pondering on

The tipsy kisses of some tavern wench!

Be not deceived--this love is but the seed;

The branching tree that springs from it is Hate!

_Dar._ (_to ETH._) Nay, heed him not. There is a legend here--

An idle tale, that man is infamous,

And he believes it. So, indeed, did we,

Till we beheld you, gallant gentlemen!

_Lut._ Why, they are raving! Let me go at once

And join my brothers at our monarch’s court;

While they are here this is no place for me.

_Zay._ (_eagerly to SEL._) Let him depart; then we can summon here

His mortal counterpart. (_Fairies delighted; SELENE expresses

indignant surprise, ZAYDA changes her manner_), a poor frail man

No doubt, who stands in very sorest need

Of such good counsel as we can afford.

_Sel._ Thou speakest wisely. Lutin, get thee gone.

_Eth._ Be off at once.

_Phy._ Begone, thou scurvy knave!

Thy wife shall hear of this--_she’ll_ punish thee.

_Lut._ Oh, moral plague! oh, walking pestilence!

Oh, incarnation of uncleanliness!

You call me knave! Why, hark ye men of sin.

You’ve kings and queens upon that world of yours,

To whom you crawl in apt humility;

Well, sir, there’s not an emperor on earth

Who would not kiss the dust I tread upon,

And I’m the meanest here. Good day to you. [_Exit LUTIN._

_Eth._ (_following him angrily, is restrained by SELENE_).

The fellow’s crazed--heed not his rhapsodies,

Thou dost not credit him?

_Sel._ And if I do,

What matters it? Be all he says thou art,

And I will worship thee for being so;

Thou art my faith--whate’er my Ethais does

Is ever hallowed by his doing it;

Thy moral law is mine--for thou art mine:

Rob, and I’ll scoff at honor; kill--I’ll kill;

Be perjured, and I’ll swear by perjury;

Ay, be thou false to me, and I’ll proclaim

That man forsworn who loves but one alone!

My soul is thine--whate’er my faith may be,

I’ll be its herald; if thou hast no faith,

I’ll be the high priest of thine unbelief!

Thy wisdom’s mine; thy folly’s thine--

_Eth._ Hush! hush!

Why this is madness!

_Sel._ Yes, for this is Love!

_SELENE kneels at ETHAIS’ feet._

ACT II.

_SCENE, same as Act I._

[_DARINE, ZAYDA, LEILA, LOCRINE, other Fairies, and NEODIE

discovered anxiously watching the entrance to SELENE’S bower._]

_Dar._ Still, still Selene watches Ethais!

For six long hours has she detained the knight

Within the dark recesses of her bower,

Under pretense that his unhappy wound

Demands her unremitting watchfulness!

(_Indignantly._) This, fairies, is our queen!--the sinless soul

To whose immaculate pre-eminence

We pure and perfect maidens of the air

Accord our voluntary reverence!

_Zay._ Her conduct is an outrage on her sex!

Was it for _this_ that we proposed to her

That we should bring these mortals to our land?

Is _this_ the way to teach this erring man

The moral beauties of a spotless life?

To teach him truths that now he wots not of?

Surely this knight might well have learnt on earth

Such moral truths as _she_ is teaching him.

_Enter SELENE from bower, DARINE retires up._

_Lei._ At last she comes! (_to SELENE_). We are well pleased to find

That, after such a lengthy vigil, thou

Canst tear thyself away from Ethais!

_Sel._ Yes, dearest sister, he is calmer now.

(_To ZAY._) Oh! this has been a fearful night for him;

Not for one moment have I left his side!

_Zay._ Poor Ethais! Believe us, sister dear,

He has our heartfelt pity.

_Sel._ All night long

He tossed and raved in wild delirium;

Shouting for arms, and, as it seemed to me,

Fighting his fight with Phyllon o’er again,

At length, as morning broke, he fell asleep,

And slept in peace till half an hour ago.

I watched him through the long and troubled night,

Fanning the fever from his throbbing brow,

Till he awoke. At first he gazed on me

In silent wonderment; then, suddenly

Seizing my hand, he pressed it to his lips,

And swore that I had saved him from the grave--

Mark that--the grave! I--I had saved his life!

He told me that he loved me--loved me well;

That I was fairer than the maids of earth--

That I had holy angel-eyes, that rained

A gentle pity on his stubborn heart--

(He called it stubborn, for he knew it not);

That I was fairer, in his worldly eyes,

Than all the maids on earth or in the clouds!

(_DARINE, who has listened with intense anxiety to this speech,

goes off silently, but in an agony of grief._)

_Zay._ (_spitefully_). Could any words more eloquently show

The recklessness of his delirium?

_Sel._ (_surprised_). Nay, he was conscious then.

_Neo._ (_very kindly_). Of course he was!

No doubt, Selene, thou hast gained his love.

Be happy in it, dearest sister; but

In thy proud triumph, love, pray recollect

He had not seen _us_!

_Zay._ Thou hast wisely done

To keep him from _our_ sight. Cage thou thy bird,

Or he may fly to fairer homes than thine.

_Sel._ (_amazed_). What mean you, sisters? Nay, turn not away--

What have I done?

_Loc._ (_very spitefully_). Indeed we do not know;

But, lest we should affect his love for thee,

We will at once withdraw. [_Exit LOCRINE, bowing ironically._

_Lei._ (_with freezing politeness_). Good-day to you!

_Neo._ Good-day!

_Zay._ Good-day. Remember--cage thy bird! [_Exit._

_Sel._ How strangely are my sisters changed to me!

Have I done wrong? No, no, I’m sure of that.

The knight was sorely stricken--he had died

But for my willing care. Oh! earthly love,

Thou mighty minister of good or ill,

Is it for good or ill that thou art here?

Art thou an element of happiness,

Or an unwieldy talisman that I,

In heedlessness, have turned against myself?

“He had not seen _them_,”--so my sister spake;

Yes, truly, there are fairer forms than mine.

He shall _not_ see them! Oh! I am unjust.

Hath he not told me that I have his love?

There is no treachery in those brave eyes:

There is no falsehood in that gallant heart!

But still--he had _not_ seen them. Oh, for shame!

Can love and doubt reign ever side by side?

No, Ethais, love is the death of doubt.

I love thee, Ethais, and doubt thee not!

Still it were better that he saw but me.

(_ETHAIS has entered unperceived from bower and overheard the

last three lines. He is very pale and weak, and his arm is in a

sling._)

_Eth._ Selene, I am weak--give me thine hand.

_Sel._ My love, thou shouldst not yet have left thy couch!

Come--thou hast need of rest.

_Eth._ No, let me stay.

The air revives me--I am strong again.

And so, thou trustest me?

_Sel._ In truth I do! (_Sits by his side._)

Although I can not tell thee whence proceeds

This strange, irrational belief in thee--

Thee, whom I hardly know.

_Eth._ Is that so strange?

I see no marvel!

_Sel._ Nay, my love, reflect,

I am a woman, and thou art a man;

Well, thou art comely--so, in truth, am I;

We meet and love each other--that’s to say,

I am prepared to give up all I have,

My home, my very fairyhood for thee;

Thou to surrender riches, honor, life,

To please the fleeting fancies of my will.

And why?

Because I see in thee, or thou in me,

Astounding virtue, brilliant intellect,

Great self-denial, venerable years,

Rare scholarship, or godly talent? No!

Because, forsooth, we’re comely specimens--

Not of our own, but Nature’s industry!

_Eth._ The face is the true index of the mind,

A ready formula, whereby to read

The lesson of a lifetime in a glance.

_Sel._ (_in wonder_). Then, Ethais, is perfect comeliness

Always identified with moral worth?

_Eth._ The comeliest man is the most virtuous--

That’s an unfailing rule.

_Sel._ Then, Ethais,

There is no holier man on earth than thou!

My sisters, Ethais, are sadly changed

By the strange power that emanates from thee.

They love thee as I love thee!

_Eth._ (_aside_). Do they so!

I’faith they shall not love their love in vain!

_Sel._ I tell thee this that thou mayst shun them, lest

By crafty scheme and subtly planned device,

They steal thee from thy mistress unawares.

_Eth._ (_laughing_).

No fear of that! Laugh all their schemes to scorn,

Treat them with the contempt such jades deserve.

I do not seek _them_.

_Sel._ Does the miser treat

The thief who seeks his treasure with contempt,

Because his treasure does not seek the thief?

No, Ethais, I’ll hide my gold away!

Take thou this ring--it is a pledge of love (_giving him a ring_).

Wear it until thy love fades from thy soul.

_Eth._ ’Twill never fade while thou art true to me.

_Sel._ (_amazed_). Are women ever false to such as thou?

_Eth._ Are women ever true? Well, not to me.

(_Aside._) Nor I to them; and so we square accounts!

_Sel._ Then thou hast been deceived?

_Eth._ A dozen times.

_Sel._ How terrible!

_Eth._ Yes, terrible indeed!

Ah, my Selene, picture to thyself

A man--linked for his life to one he loves.

She is his world--she is the breath he breathes;

In his fond eyes the type of purity.

Well, she is false--all women are--and then

Come tidings of his shame, the damning words,

“I love another, I have cheated thee.”

At first it can not be, it is a dream;

And when by slow procession, step by step,

He sees in it the _waking_ from a dream,

His heavy heart stands still--he dies a death,

A momentary death--to wake again

Into a furious life of hot revenge;

His hand against all men; his maddened tongue

Calling down curses on his cheated self;

On him who stole her love, on all but her

Who has called down this crowning curse on him!

To find _her_ love a lie, _her_ kiss a jest,

_Her_ cherished bywords a cold mockery--

Oh, there are words

For other agonies, but none for this!

_Sel._ And thou hast suffered this?

_Eth._ (_bitterly_). I have indeed!

_Sel._ And how long does this bitter anguish last?

_Eth._ Well, in a very serious case, all night!

Next day a fairer face, a nobler form,

A purer heart, a gentler maidenhood,

Will set him dreaming as he dreamt before

Until the time for waking comes again;

And so the round of love runs through our lives!

_Sel._ But these are earthly maidens, Ethais--

My love is purer than a mortal’s love.

_Eth._ Thine is no mortal love if it be pure.

_Sel._ (_horrified_). Then, mortal Ethais, what love is thine?

_Eth._ (_taken aback_). I spake of women--men are otherwise.

_Sel._ Man’s love is pure, invariably?

_Eth._ Pure?

Pure as thine own!

_Sel._ Poor, trusting, cheated souls!

[_Exeunt together into bower._

_Enter DARINE, who has overheard the last few lines._

_Dar._ She leads him willingly into her bower!

Oh! I could curse the eyes that meet his eyes,

The hand that touches his hand, and the lips

That press his lips! And why? I can not tell!

Some unknown fury rages in my soul,

A mean and miserable hate of all, [_Enter PHYLLON unobserved._

Who interpose between my love and me!

What devil doth possess me?

_Phy._ Jealousy!

_Dar._ Perhaps--what matters how the fiend is called?

_Phy._ But wherefore art thou jealous? Tell me, now,

Have _I_ done aught to cause this jealousy?

_Dar._ Thou! Dost _thou_ love me?

_Phy._ Love thee? Tenderly!

I love all pretty girls, on principle.

_Dar._ But is thy love an all-possessing love?

Mad, reckless, unrestrained, infuriate,

Holding thy heart within its iron grasp,

And pressing passion from its very core?

_Phy._ (_surprised_). Oh, yes!

_Dar._ Alas! poor stricken, love-sick knight!

Phyllon, my love is such a love as thine,

But it is not for thee! Oh, nerve thyself,

I have ill tidings for thee, gentle knight!

I love thee not!

_Phy._ Indeed?

_Dar._ Is it not strange?

_Phy._ Most unaccountable.

_Dar._ (_disappointed_). But tell me, now.

Art thou not sorely vexed?

_Phy._ (_quietly_). Unspeakably.

_Dar._ But thou’lt forgive me? Tell me Phyllon, now,

That I am pardoned!

_Phy._ That, indeed, thou art.

_Dar._ (_hurt_). Phyllon, hadst thou despised _my_ proffered love,

I’d not have pardoned _thee_!

_Phy._ No, women don’t.

_Dar._ (_impatiently_). But dost thou understand? I love thee not.

I, whom thou lovest, Phyllon, love thee not--

Nay, more, I love another--Ethais!

Thou hast a rival, and a favored one.

Dost thou not hear me?

_Phy._ (_surprised_). Yes; I’m deeply pained.

_Dar._ (_delighted_). Thou art?

_Phy._ Of course. What wouldst thou have me do?

_Dar._ Do? Hurl thyself headlong to yonder earth,

And end at once a life of agony!

_Phy._ Why should I!

_Dar._ _Why?_ Because I love thee not!

Why if _I_ loved and found my love despised,

The universe should ring with my laments;

And were I mortal, Phyllon, as thou art,

I would destroy myself!

_Phy._ Ha! ha! If all

Heartbroken lovers took that course, the world

Would be depopulated in a week!

And so thou lovest Ethais?

_Dar._ (_enthusiastically_). I do!

_Phy._ But still (I may be wrong) it seems to me

He’s taken with Selene--

_Dar._ (_furiously_). Name her not!

He feigns a love he does not feel, because

She is our queen. He dares not anger her!

_Phy._ But art thou sure of this?

_Dar._ (_bitterly_). Oh! am I sure!

Look in these eyes--they do not burn for _thee_;

Behold this form--that _thou_ shalt never clasp--

Gaze on these lips--_thou_ shalt not press them, sir!

And tell me, now, that Ethais loves me not!

Oh! had I but the power to heal his wound,

And free him from her hated company!

_Phy._ Were Lutin here, he would assist thy plan.

_Dar._ Lutin?

_Phy._ His henchman, and a cunning leech;

He has a charm--a potent talisman--

A panacea that will heal all wounds;

Fetch him, and Ethais is healed again.

_Dar._ (_aside_). The gods have heard me!

(_Aloud, suddenly_). Oh; insensate knight,

Thou counselest me how to gain his love;

And yet thou lovest me?

_Phy._ Oh, pardon me,

That was ten minutes since--an age ago! [_Exit._

_Dar._ Here comes the miserable, mincing jade,

With a fair speech upon her lying lips,

To meet the sister whom her base-born arts

Have robbed of more than life! Oh, hypocrite!

_Enter SELENE from bower._

_Sel._ Darine!

_Dar._ (_changing her manner_). My sister--my beloved one,

Why, thou art sad; thine eyes are dim with tears!

Say, what hath brought thee grief?

_Sel._ (_with great joy_). Darine, my own.

_Thou_ dost not shun me, then?

_Dar._ (_aside_). Oh, hypocrite!

(_Aloud._) Shun thee, my own Selene? No--not I!

_Sel._ Bless thee for that! I feared to meet thy face,

For all my loved companions turned from me

With scornful jest and bitter mockery.

Thou--thou--Darine, alone art true to me!

_Dar._ True to Selene while Selene breathes!

Come--tell me all thy woes.

_Sel._ My Ethais--

He whom I love so fondly--he is ill,

And I am powerless to heal his wound.

Darine, my love may die!

_Dar._ What can be done?

Oh, I would give my fairyhood to save

The man thou lovest so--my dearly loved!

But stay, the counterpart of Lutin is

At once his henchman and his cunning leech;

Lutin has left our sphere, (_plucking rose from tree_)

cast this to earth, (_giving it_)

And summon mortal Lutin to his aid.

He hath a charm to heal thy lover’s wound.

_Sel._ Kind Heaven reward thee for thy ready wit,

My sister, thou hast saved both him and me!

My darling sister! (_Embracing her._)

_Dar._ (_aside_). Oh, thou hypocrite!

_Sel._ Fair rose, I name thee Lutin, go to earth,

And hither send the mortal counterpart

Of him whose name thou hast, and may the gods

Prosper thy mission! Kiss me, dear Darine, (_kissing her_)

For thou hast saved my Ethais for me! [_Exit SELENE._

_Dar._ No, not for thee, good sister, for myself! [_Exit DARINE._

(_Hurried music. Enter MORTAL LUTIN over edge of precipice,

staggering on the stage as if violently impelled from below._)

_Lut._ What ho! help! help! Where am I? Not on earth,

For I remember that a friendly cloud

Enveloped me, and whirled me through the air,

Just as my fair, but able-bodied, wife,

Began to lay my staff about my ears!

[_Enter NEODIE, LEILA, LOCRINE, and others._

Can this be death, and has she killed me? (_Sees them_) Well,

If I _be_ dead, and if this _be_ the place

In which I’m doomed to expiate my sins,

Taking my sins all round, I’m bound to say

It might have been considerably worse!

_Loc._ (_approaching him with great delight_).

Why, this is Lutin’s mortal counterpart!

_Neo._ How quaint! How gloriously rugged?

_Lei._ Yes!

Such character and such expression!

_All._ (_admiring him_). Yes!

_Lut._ By some mistake my soul has missed its way,

And slipped into Mahomet’s Paradise!

_Neo._ No, this is fairy-land. See, there’s the earth

From which we summoned thee. These are the clouds.

Thou art not angry with us?

_Lut._ Angry? No!

I’m very well up here!

_Loc._ Then thou shalt stay!

_Neo._ Oh, tell me, are there many men on earth

As fair and pleasant to the eye as thou?

_Lut._ Not many, though I have met one or two

Who run me pretty close.

_Neo._ Tell us their names.

_Lut._ Well, let me see, Sir Phyllon has been thought

A personable man; then Ethais

He’s fairly well.

_Neo._ But these are _handsome_ men--

We love thee for thy rugged homely face;

Oh, we are sated with mere comeliness,

We have so much of that up here! (_rises_) I love

A homely face!

_Lut._ I quite agree with you.

What do a dozen handsome men imply?

A dozen faces cast in the same mold,

A dozen mouths all lip for lip the same.

A dozen noses all of equal length?

But take twelve plain men, and the element

Of picturesque variety steps in,

You get at once unlooked-for hill and dale--

Odd curves and unexpected points of light,

Pleasant surprises--quaintly broken lines;

All very pleasant, whether seen upon

The face of nature or the face of man. [_Enter ZAYDA._

_Loc._ But stay--thou shouldst be faint, for lack of food!

_Neo._ Nay, let me minister unto his wants!

_Zay._ Then go, beloved sisters, gather fruits.

And bring them here to him. Such frugal fare

Will have a daintier flavor than its own

When served by such fair hands! (_Kissing them._)

[_Exeunt LOCRINE, NEODIE, and others._

_Zay._ (_suddenly_). We are alone!

One word of caution--shun my sisters all!

_Lut._ Are all those lovely girls your sisters?

_Zay._ Yes

Rejoice that they are not thine own.

_Lut._ I do.

I very much prefer them as they are!

You’re a fine family.

_Zay._ Fair to the eye;

But take good heed--they are not what they seem!

Locrine, the fair, the beautiful Locrine,

Is the embodiment of avarice!

She seeks your gold.

_Lut._ I’m much obliged to her;

I’ll give her half she finds and thank her too!

_Zay._ Darine is vain beyond comparison;

Neodie is much older than she looks;

Camilla hath defective intellect;

Ena’s a bitter shrew; Colombe’s a thief;

And, last and worst of all--I blush to own,

Our queen Selene hath a tongue that stabs--

A traitor-tongue, that serves no better end

Than wag a woman’s character away!

_Lut._ I’ve stumbled into pretty company!

It seems you fairies have your faults!

_Zay._ Alas!

All but myself. _My_ soul is in my face;

I--only I--am what I seem to be;

I--only I--am worthy to be loved;

(_confidentially_). If thou wilt love me I will dower thee

With wealth untold, long years and happy life,

Thou gallant churl--thou highly polished boor--

Thou pleasant knave--thou strange epitome

Of all that’s rugged, quaint and picturesque!

_Lut._ You don’t take long in coming to the point.

_Zay._ Forgive my clumsy and ill chosen words;

We gentle, simple fairies never loved

Until to-day.

_Lut._ And when you _do_ begin,

You fairies make up for the time you’ve lost!

(_The Fairies enter with fruit. He sits up. They group about him._)

_Neo._ Hast thou a wife?

_Lut._ Well, yes--that is--down there--

Up here I am a bachelor--as yet.

_Zay._ (_offended_). As yet! Be good enough to recollect

That we are good, and pure, and maidenly--

So prithee guard that errant tongue of thine.

_Loc._ And does she love thee?

_Lut._ Humph--we _do_ fall out--

We did to-day.

_Neo._ And how came that about? (_All anxious to know._)

_Lut._ Why thus--to tell the truth--between ourselves--

There was a lady in the case.

_Zay._ (_apart, much shocked_). Hush--hush--

Confine thyself to matters that relate

To thine own sex. Thy master, Ethais--

He fought with Phyllon--what was that about? (_Crossing to LUTIN._)

_Lut._ Oh, it’s the old, old story!

_Loc._ Tell it.

_Lut._ Well,

There was a lady in the case!

_Zay._ Then, stop--

Go on to something else--Where wast thou born?

_Lut._ Why, in Bulgaria--some years ago--

(_whispering_) There was a lady in _that_ case!

_Zay._ (_severely_). It seems

There is a lady, sir, in every case.

_Lut._ In all these cases they _do_ interfere!

_Enter DARINE unobserved._

_Loc._ And, Lutin, is thy wife as fair as thou?

_Lut._ I thought her pretty till I looked on thee.

_Zay._ Her hair?

_Lut._ Is bright--but not as bright as thine.

_Loc._ Her figure?

_Lut._ Neat and graceful of its kind,

But lacks thy pleasant plumpness. Then, besides,

She has a long loud tongue, and uses it--

A stout and heavy hand--and uses that;

And large expressive eyes--and uses _them_!

_Zay._ And does she know that thou art here with us?

_Lut._ No--that’s the joke! No--that’s the best of it!

The gods forbid she ever should know _that_!

She is so plaguey jealous!

_Loc._ Is she so?

How is the lady called?

_Lut._ Her name’s Darine.

_Dar._ (_coming forward_). So I have found thee, Lutin.

_Lut._ (_aghast_). Can it be?

My wife!

_Zay._ Thy wife? This is Darine!

_Lut._ I know!

(_They detain him_). Be quiet--don’t--oblige me--let me go!

Do not suppose, my love, that these bold girls

Are friends of mine.

_Dar._ Come, I would speak with thee--

_Lut._ Allow me to explain.

_Dar._ Attend to me.

Say, dost thou love thy master, Ethais?

_Lut._ My master? Yes, most surely!

_Dar._ (_earnestly_). So do I!

Madly, unreasonably, recklessly. (_LUTIN much taken aback_)

Love him with all the passion of a heart

That love has never kindled till to-day!

Thou, only thou, canst help me, noble sir.

The gods, the gods have sent thee to my aid!

_Lut._ Have they? In doing so the gods have not

Displayed their usual talent for intrigue.

O, thou abandoned woman!

_Dar._ Hear me, sir!

My Ethais is wounded in the arm,

Thou hast a remedy of wondrous power,

A charmèd remedy. Give it to me,

That I may work his cure.

_Lut._ Upon my soul,

Cure _him_ for _thee_! This is a cool request!

_Dar._ But why not heal thy master’s wound?

_Lut._ Because,

Under the circumstances, I prefer

My master wounded to my master well,

For when he’s well, he’s very well indeed!

(_Aside_) But stay--here is an essence that will drown

His soul in sleep till I awaken him (_taking bottle from pocket_).

Shall I? I will! He’ll be much safer so!

(_Aloud_) There, take the charm, and heal thy Ethais!

_Dar._ A thousand thanks! Now he indeed is mine!

_Lut._ Oh! this is inconceivable! Come here (_Fairies advance_),

D’ ye see these maidens, madam? Hitherto

Thou hast been jealous, but without good cause;

But now I’ll give thee cause for jealousy;

I’ll pass my time with them--d’ye hear? with them--

They’re very pleasant, unaffected girls;

I like them very much, and they like me--

I’ll play the very devil with their hearts,

And let them play the very deuce with mine!

_Dar._ Do so; I’ll not detain thee from thy loves--

See how impatiently they wait for thee;

Go--while the happy hours away with them.

_Lut._ Is this thy jealousy, abandoned girl?

_Dar._ (_surprised_). Jealous of thee? Good sir, I love thee not!

_Lut._ You don’t!

_Dar._ No, no--I love Sir Ethais;

And when I’ve healed his wound, sheer gratitude

Will wake his soul to love!

_Lut._ If he drinks that

Sheer gratitude won’t wake him. After all (_looking at Fairies who

are endeavoring to persuade him to accompany them._)

Six pretty Zaydas to one Ethais--

He fast asleep, and they all wide awake,

Egad, I’ve six to one the best of that! [_Exeunt LUTIN and Fairies._

Dar. He comes! At last I shall behold my love!

[_Enter ETHAIS from bower._

(_Tenderly._) How fares Sir Ethais?

_Eth._ Why grievously.

I am no leech, and can not dress my wound,

I’m sick and faint from pain and loss of blood.

_Dar._ (_aside_). How shall I work my end? I have a plan!

Oh, powers of impudence defend me now!

(_Aloud_). Sir Ethais, if Phyllon’s words be true,

Thy wound is but a scratch.

_Eth._ A scratch, forsooth!

The devil’s nails could hardly scratch so deep.

_Dar._ He says--I don’t believe him--but he _says_

That thou hast magnified its character,

Because thou fearest to renew the fight.

He says thou art a coward!

_Eth._ (_furiously_). By my blood,

He shall atone for that! Did he say this

To thee?

_Dar._ Ay, sir, to me--a minute since.

_Eth._ Oh, Phyllon! Coward? Why, a dozen times

We two have fought our battles side by side;

And I’m to quail and blanch, forsooth, because

We two, at last, are fighting face to face?

Oh, curses on the wound! Were Lutin here,

My sword-arm soon would be in gear again.

_Dar._ Lutin _is_ here.

_Eth._ (_amazed_). Here? Lutin?

_Dar._ Yes. Behold! (_Shows flask._)

I have obtained this precious charm from him.

Now, knight, to prove thy mettle!

_Eth._ (_furiously_). Give it me--

Give me the flask!

_Dar._ One moment, Ethais.

This flask is precious, and it hath a price.

_Eth._ Name thou thy price, and I will give it thee.

Take money, jewels, armor, all I have,

So that thou leavest me one trusty sword!

_Dar._ No, Ethais, I do not want thy wealth,

I want thy love--yes, Ethais, thy love;

That priceless love that thou hast lavished on

My worthless sister.

_Eth._ On Selene?

_Dar._ Yes,

Thou lovest her--and dost thou think that I

Will save thy life for her?

_Eth._ Selene? Bah!

True, she is fair. Well, thou art also fair.

What does it matter--her fair face or thine?

What matters either face--or hers or thine--

When weighed against this outrage on my fame?

_Dar._ Give me this ring, and thou shalt have the charm.

_Eth._ ’Tis thine. And now, Sir Phyllon, take good heed!

_Enter SELENE from bower._

_Sel._ Darine! Thou here, alone with Ethais!

No, no. I will not doubt--

_Dar._ Doubt whom thou wilt!

Thou hypocrite! thou shameless hypocrite!

Thou wretched victim of thine own designs.

_Sel._ Darine, what dost thou mean?

_Enter Fairies._

_Dar._ Doubt all of us,

For we are false to thee as thou to us.

I am as thou hast made me, hypocrite!

_Sel._ Thou art to me as thou hast ever been,

Most dearly loved of all these dearly loved.

_Dar._ Away! Thou art the source of all our ill;

For though we counseled thee to do the deed

That brought this blight upon our innocence,

’Twas but a test, and thou hast bent to it!

_Zay._ Oh, miserable woman, get thee hence!

Thou art no queen of ours!

_Loc._ Away with her!

Down with the traitress queen!

(_SELENE turns from one to another--all turn away from her._)

_Sel._ So let it be.

Yes, thou hast rightly said--I had a trust.

I have forsaken it. Through my default,

The taint of earth has fallen on our land.

Mine was the sin--be mine the punishment.

Well-loved Darine, take thou this diadem:

Wear it more worthily than I. (_Places her coronet on DARINE._)

Behold

How royally it rests upon her brow!

My gentle sisterhood, behold your queen! (_Fairies bow._)

Let her fair face and form untainted yet

By the iniquity of my default,

Recall the loved Darine of yesterday--

The gentle, loving, maidenly Darine--

Who would have been that loved Darine to-day,

But for my erring deed. Oh, shame on me!

Thou art as I have made thee. Who am I

That I should judge my sister? I am loved;

But had I lost that love, should I have borne

My loss more patiently than thou? Alas!

Thou, I, and all, are now as mortals are.

_Dar._ So may I fall if I forsake my trust.

Thy punishment is just. Thou wast a queen--

What art thou now?

_Sel._ I have a kingdom yet!

I have a kingdom here--in Ethais’ heart.

A kingdom? Nay, a world--my world--my world!

A world where all is pure, and good, and brave;

A world of noble thought and noble deed;

A world of brave and gentle chivalry;

A very goodly and right gallant world;--

This is my kingdom--for I am its queen!

_Dar._ Thou art no queen of his, for he is mine.

Aye, by the token that thou gavest him (_shows ring_),

Thou fond and foolish maiden!

_Sel._ (_Looking at it_). No, no, no!

It is a counterfeit--no, no, Darine!

The punishments of Heaven are merciful. (_Takes ETHAIS’S hand to

kiss it; she sees that the ring is not there._)

Oh, Ethais!

Is that the ring with which I plighted thee?

_Eth._ Ay, that’s the bauble. I have naught to say.

_Sel._ (_To DAR._) It fell from him--where didst thou find it, speak?

_Eth._ I sold it for a charm that I might have

An arm to flog a lying cur withal;

A traitor devil, whose false breath had blurred

My knightly honor, dearer to my heart

Than any love of woman--hers or thine!

I had no choice--my honor was at stake.

_Sel._ Thine honor! Thou dost well to speak of that.

Can devils take the face and form of gods?

Are truth and treachery so near akin

That one can wear the other’s countenance?

Are all men such as thou? Or art thou not

Of thine accursed race the most accursed?

Why, honorable sir, thou art a knight

That wars with womankind! Thy panoply

A goodly form, smooth tongue, and fair false face.

Thy shield a lie; thy weapon an embrace;

The emblem of thy skill a broken heart!

Thine is a gallant calling, Ethais--

Thou manly knight--thou soul of chivalry--

Thou most discreet and prudent warrior!

(_He approaches her._) Away, and touch me not! My nature’s gone.

May Heaven rain down her fury on thy soul!

May every fiber in that perjured heart

Quiver with love for one who loves thee not!

May thine untrammeled soul at last be caught,

And fixed and chained and riveted to one

Who, with the love of heaven upon her lips,

Carries the hate of hell within her heart!

Thou phantom of the truth--thou mimic god--

Thou traitor to thine own unhappy soul--

Thou base apostate to the lovely faith,

That thou hast preached with such false eloquence,

I am thine enemy! (_To her sisters._) Look on your work,

My gentle sisters. (_They look in horror._) Are ye not content?

Behold! I am a devil, like yourselves!

ACT III.

_SCENE, same as Acts I. and II._

_LUTIN discovered sitting, in deep dejection. ZAYDA is at his

feet trying to arouse him. ETHAIS is lying insensible at

entrance to bower, covered with a mantle._

_Zay._ Come, Lutin, speak to me--for hours in vain

I’ve sought to wean thee from thine inner self;

I’ve sung in vain to thee--thou wilt not sing--

_Lut._ I can not sing.

_Zay._ Or dance?

_Lut._ I do not dance.

_Zay._ Then let us float on yonder silver stream (_they rise_),

Or plunge headlong into its mossy depths,

And wander, hand in hand, from grot to grot;

Or, if thou wilt, I’ll whirl thee through the air,

And light with thee on yon tall pinnacle.

Come, Lutin--take my hand, and we’ll away!

_Lut._ Don’t be ridiculous! I do not fly!

You’re very good--you mean it well, I know--

But I’ve no taste for such alarming joys.

I can’t help thinking of my lost Darine,

_She_ was so much too good for me, and now

_I_ am so much too good for her!

_Zay._ Alas!

Dost thou love _her_?

_Lut._ I can’t help loving her.

_Zay._ Dismiss the worthless creature from thy thoughts.

I know her well--she don’t deserve thy love!

She always was a very wicked girl.

_Lut._ Wicked? The best of women!

_Zay._ (_maliciously_). So she _seemed_.

_Lut._ She had her faults, I know.

_Zay._ She hath a soul

In which hypocrisy, intemperance,

Hate, envy, vanity, untruthfulness

Run riot at their will!

_Lut._ (_astonished_). You don’t say so?

I’d no idea of this--(_weeping_)

_Zay._ As for her crimes--

_Lut._ Tell me the worse at once!

_Zay._ The worst? No, that

Would be _too_ cruel--but--bigamy’s the best!

_Lut._ What! Bigamy! Has she _two_ husbands, then?

_Zay._ Two? Half-a-dozen!

_Lut._ What!

_Zay._ Why even now

She seeks to add a seventh to her list!

Sir Ethais--

_Lut._ Ah, there I’ve thwarted her.

_Enter DARINE, who goes to ETHAIS. She overhears what follows._

I have a potion that will heal his wounds;

She begged it of me, but I cheated her,

And put into her hands a sleeping draught.

By this time he’s as helpless as the dead,

And she may shout until she wakes the dead,

Before she wakes him!

(_DARINE comes forward. Exit ZAYDA, in terror._)

_Dar._ (_down_). Why, thou envious churl--

Thou wanton trifler with the purest fire

That ever burnt in love-sick woman’s breast,

Why hast thou done this thing?

_Lut._ She does not quail

Beneath her injured Lutin’s outraged eye, (_she goes up to ETHAIS_)

But calmly asks him why he’s done this thing!

_Dar._ Say, is he dead? Come--answer quickly!

_Lut._ Well,

He’s dead to all intents and purposes.

_Dar._ How has he injured thee?

_Lut._ He hasn’t as yet;

And I’ll take care he don’t!

_Dar._ Oh, misery!

In half-an-hour my brothers will be here;

In half-an-hour he must return to earth! (_Referring to ETHAIS_)

Awake, insensate knight--arouse thee, dolt!

I--I, Darine, am waiting here for thee.

Dost thou not hear me? Ethais, awake!

_Lut._ Oh--shout away!

_Dar._ Oh! I will be revenged!

(_To LUTIN_). I know not why thou wagest bitter war

Against my unoffending happiness;

But I will thwart thy schemes. Sir Phyllon comes! [_Enter PHYLLON._

Come hither, Phyllon--come to me, fair knight!

Say, dost thou love me still?

_Phy._ Indeed I do!

_Dar._ (_To LUTIN._) Thou hearest him--he _loves_ me!

(_To PHYLL._) Tenderly?

_Phy._ Most tenderly! (_Embracing her._)

_Dar._ He loves _most_ tenderly!

_He_ is awake!

_Lut._ Yes, much too wide awake!

Disreputable woman, let him be!

Unhand this lady!

_Dar._ Why, thou selfish knave,

May I love nobody on earth but _thee_?

_Lut._ Of course you may not!

_Dar._ Go, sir, get thee gone!

There are fair maids enough awaiting thee;

I do not interfere ’twixt thee and them.

_Lut._ Well no, to do you justice, you do _not_!

I do not want them. I’m a married man!

What married man cares twopence for intrigues

At which his wife connives?

_Phy._ Is this thy wife?

_Lut._ I blush to say she is!

_Dar._ (_amazed_). I am thy wife!

Oh, monstrous! Stay, there has been some mistake,

Some dreadful error! See, I’ve found a clew!

No doubt I am her fairy prototype,

In face resembling her, but that is all.

_Lut._ Then thou art _not_ my wife?

_Dar._ Not I, indeed! (_LUTIN kisses her._)

I am a fairy. Be thou reassured;

Thy wife is on the earth (_kisses her again_)--Give me the charm

To cure my Ethais, and sit thee down (_he gives it to her_),

And I will send for Zayda and Locrine,

And thou shalt talk of love to both of them.

_Lut._ Well no--upon the whole--I’d rather not.

(_DARINE administers the potion to ETHAIS, who gradually

revives._)

I have reformed, Darine, and had I not,

I don’t think I could talk to them of love

With all the eloquence the theme deserves,

In the distracting company of one,

Who, if she’s not in point of fact my wife,

Is so uncomfortably like my wife,

That she may be my wife for aught I know;

And more than that, I can’t stand tamely by

And notice with uninterested gaze

A lady, who’s so very like my wife,

Hanging on everybody’s neck but mine.

Don’t send for Zayda--I’m a married man! [_Exit._

_Dar._ He wakes! He lives--my own, own Ethais!

_Eth._ (_awaking_). Why--where am I? Have I then been asleep?

_Dar._ Indeed thou hast! See, thou must soon return

To yonder earth--I’ve much to say to thee.

_Eth._ But how came I to sleep? I recollect!

Thou gavest me a potion, and I--(_Sees PHYLLON_)

Ha! (_Flies at his throat._)

So I’m a cur, Sir Liar, and my wound

Is but a scratch which I have magnified

That I might shun the terrors of thy sword!

_Phy._ Hands off, thou drunken madman! Set me free.

I never said these things!

_Eth._ Thou craven cur,

Dost thou then fear to reap before my face

The crop that thou hast sown behind my back?

Thy life shall pay for this!

_Phy._ (_contemptuously_). I am not wont

To weigh the words I speak to such as thou.

No need to taint _thine_ honor with a lie.

Why, Ethais, the truth is black enough;

I know thee as a brawling tavern bully,

A hollow friend--a cruel unsparing foe--

A reckless perjurer--a reprobate--

The curse of woman and the scourge of man! (_Shaking him off._)

Is not the _truth_ enough, that I should grudge

The one brute-virtue of thy satyr-soul--

The instinct courage of a hungry dog!

_Eth._ (_with suppressed fury_).

I’ll place these charges to the long account

That I’ve to settle when we go below!

(_To DAR._) Didst thou not tell me he had said these things?

_Dar._ I did, indeed!

_Phy._ And by what warrant, pray?

_Dar._ It was an artifice to gain thy love. (_To ETHAIS._)

Has man monopoly of lover’s lies?

Forgive me, Phyllon--

_Phy._ Bah? Release my hand,

Thou shameless woman--I have done with thee. [_Exit_ PHYL.

_Dar._ Oh! Ethais, be not enraged with me--

Think of my love--

_Eth._ The devil take thy love--

I’ll none of it! Begone! See, hither comes

The woman that thy bitter lie hath wronged.

Hast thou the heart to stand before her?

_Dar._ No! [_Exit._

_Enter SELENE from bower._

_Sel._ Thou here? and with Darine!

_Eth._ Stay, hear me out!

It’s true I’ve trifled with thy love, but then

Thy love is not as mortal woman’s love.

I did not know that it would move thee thus?

_Sel._ Thou didst not know!

Art thou so dull that thou canst understand

No pain that is not wreaked upon _thy_ frame?

Hast thou no knowledge of the form of woe

That comes of cheated hopes and trampled hearts?

To find _thy_ love a lie, _thy_ kiss a jest,

The bywords of _thy_ love a mockery?

Oh, there are words

For other agonies, but none for this!

_Eth._ Nay, hear me! I have wronged thee bitterly--

I will atone for all!

_Sel._ Thou shalt atone;

I’ll be the curse of thy remaining years!

Harkye, Sir Knight, I’ll yield my fairyhood

That I may go to yonder earth, and join

The whispering sisterhood of hidden hate.

The busy band who bear within their lips

The deadliest weapon of earth’s armory:

A blighting tongue--a woman’s blighting tongue!

I will so deftly wield this talisman

To twist and turn and torture good to ill,

That were it in thee to amend thy ways,

Turn anchorite, and yield to holy deeds

Of peace and prayer, goodwill and charity,

Thy holiness should seem an infamy,

Thy peace a war, thy charity a theft,

Thy calm a fury, and thy prayer a curse!

_Eth._ Stay thine unholy tongue--go thou to earth,

And learn that that which thou hast undergone--

All women undergo.

_Sel._ Am I as they?

I am immortal. Can a few brief years

Of bitter shame and bitter sorrow weigh

Against an immortality of woe?

A mortal’s love is framed to last a life.

But my love to outlive eternity,

Blind mortal, as Eternity to Time--

So is my wrong to theirs!

_Enter LOCRINE._

_Loc._ Selene, see,

Through the far distant air, with rapid flight,

Our absent brothers wing their way to us; [_Enter ZAYDA and LUTIN._

These mortals must return to their own earth!

_Lut._ Now by my head, but this is welcome news!

_Zay._ (_horrified_). Return to earth? No, Lutin; no, not yet.

Life without Lutin! what can that be worth?

_Lut._ I can not tell you for I never tried.

[_Enter DARINE and PHYLLON struggling._

Nay, seek not to detain me; I have had

Enough of fairy love--I seek my wife.

_Phy._ Come, Ethais; to earth, to earth again!

_Dar._ (_releasing him_). Ay, go, and take thy fellow man with thee

(_LUTIN and PHYLLON descend._)

We want but this to crown our misery!

_ETHAIS, about to follow him, is detained by SELENE._

_Sel._ (_suddenly_) No! no! Thou shalt not go, thou shalt not go!

My hope--my shattered hope; but still, my hope!

My love--my blighted love; but still, my love!

My life--my ruined life; but still my life!

Forgive me, Ethais: thou hast withdrawn

The very core and substance of thy love.

No matter! give me but the empty husk,

And it will stay the famine of my heart.

I’ll work and toil for thee--I’ll be thy slave,

Thine humble, silent, and submissive slave;

I’ll come but at thy beck--I will not speak,

But at thy word--my Ethais! my love!

(_furiously_) Nay, but I’ll hold thee back! I have the strength

Of fifty women! See, thou canst not go! (_with passionate triumph._)

Nay, but I’ll _wrest_ thy love away from thee,

And fetter it in bondage to my heart.

I will be one with thee; I’ll cling to thee,

And thou _shalt_ take me to that world of thine.

_Eth._ Take _thee_ to earth? I love the earth too well

To curse it with another termagant.

We have enough of them! Release me, fool!

Man hath no appetite for proffered love!

Away from me, I go to that good world

Where women are not devils till they die!

[_Throws off SELENE, who falls senseless. He leaps through cloud,

and descends. As ETHAIS disappears, the fairies, who have

grouped themselves about the stage in attitudes of despair,

gradually seem to wake as from a dream._]

_Sel._ Where am I? Zayda! Neodie! Darine!

Oh, sisters, I am waking from a dream--

A fearful dream--a dream of evil thoughts,

Of mortal passion and of mortal hate,

I thought that Ethais and Phyllon too

Had gone to mid-earth--

_Zay._ Nay, it was no dream,

A sad and sorrowful reality!

Yes, we have suffered much--but, Heaven be praised,

These mortal souls have gone to their own earth,

And taken with them the bad influence

That spread like an infection through our ranks.

See! we are as we were! (_Embracing her._)

_Sel._ Darine! Darine!

My well-beloved sister--speak to me!

_Dar._ I dare not speak to thee--I have no words--

I am ashamed.

_Sel._ Oh, sister, let that shame

Sit heavily on all--for all have sinned.

Oh, let us lay this lesson to our hearts;

Let us achieve our work with humbled souls,

Free from the folly of self-righteousness.

Behold, is there so wide a gulf between

The humbled wretch who, being tempted, falls,

And that good man who rears an honored head

Because temptation hath not come to him?

Shall we, from our enforced security,

Deal mercilessly with poor mortal man,

Who struggles, single-handed, to defend

The demon-leaguered fortress of his soul?

Shall we not rather (seeing how we fell)

Give double honor to the champion, who

Throughout his mortal peril, holds his own,

E’en though

His walls be somewhat battered in the fight?

Oh let us lay this lesson to our hearts!

_Enter LUTIN, followed by ETHAIS and PHYLLON, as fairies._

_Lut._ Your brothers have returned.

_Sel._ (_embracing ETHAIS_). My Ethais!

_Eth._ Selene--sisters all--rejoice with us,

We bear the promise of a priceless gift,

A source of new and endless happiness! (_All eager to know._)

Take every radiant blessing that adorns

Our happy land, and all will pale before

The luster of this precious privilege.

It is--that we may love as mortals love!

_Sel._ (_eagerly_). No, no--not that--no Ethais--not that!

It is a deadly snare--beware of it!

Such love is for mankind, and not for us;

It is the very essence of the earth,

A mortal emblem, bringing in its train

The direst passions of its antitype.

No, Ethais--we will not have this love;

Let us glide through our immortality

Upon the placid lake of sister-love,

Nor tempt the angry billows of a sea,

Which, though it carry us to unknown lands,

Is so beset with rocks and hidden shoals,

That we may perish ere our vessel reach

The unsafe haven of its distant shore.

No, Ethais--we will not have this love!

PYGMALION AND GALATEA:

_An Original Mythological Comedy,_

IN THREE ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

PYGMALION, _an Athenian Sculptor_, MR. KENDAL.

LEUCIPPE, _a Soldier_ MR. HOWE.

CHRYSOS, _an Art Patron_ MR. BUCKSTONE.

AGESIMOS, _Chrysos’s Slave_ MR. BRAID.

MIMOS, _Pygmalion’s Slave_ MR. WEATHERSBY.

GALATEA, _an Animated Statue_ MISS M. ROBERTSON.

CYNISCA, _Pygmalion’s Wife_ MISS CAROLINE HILL.

DAPHNE, _Chrysos’s Wife_ MRS. CHIPPENDALE.

MYRINE, _Pygmalion’s Sister_ MISS MERTON.

_SCENE: PYGMALION’S STUDIO._

⁂ _The action is comprised within the space of twenty-four hours._

PYGMALION AND GALATEA.

ACT I.

SCENE: PYGMALION’S STUDIO.

[_Several classical statues are placed about the room; at the

back a temple or cabinet containing a statue of GALATEA,

before which curtains are drawn concealing the statue from the

audience._]

[_MIMOS, a slave, is discovered at work on a half finished

statue. To him enters AGESIMOS._]

_Ages._ (_haughtily_). Good day. Is this Pygmalion’s studio?

_Mim._ (_bowing_). It is.

_Ages._ Are you Pygmalion?

_Mim._ Oh, no;

I am his slave.

_Ages._ And has Pygmalion slaves!

A sculptor with a slave to wait on him:

A slave to fetch and carry--come and go--

And p’raps a whip to thrash him if he don’t!

What’s the world coming to?

_Mim._ What is your will?

_Ages._ This: Chrysos will receive Pygmalion

At half-past three to-day; so bid him come.

_Mim._ And are you Chrysos, sir?

_Ages._ (_disconcerted_). Well, no I’m not.

That is, not altogether: I’m, in fact,

His slave.

_Mim._ (_relieved_). His slave!

_Ages._ (_very proudly_). My name’s Agesimos!

_Mim._ And has Agesimos a master then,

To bid him fetch and carry--come and go--

And wield a whip to thrash him if he don’t?

What’s the world coming to!

_Ages._ Poor purblind fool!

I’d sooner tie the sandals of my lord,

Than own five hundred thousand such as you.

Whip! why Agesimos would rather far

Be whipped by Chrysos seven times a day,

Than whip you hence to the Acropolis;

What say you now?

_Mim._ Why, that upon one point

Agesimos and I are quite agreed.

And who is Chrysos?

_Ages._ Hear the slave, ye gods!

He knows not Chrysos!

_Mim._ Verily, not I.

_Ages._ He is the chiefest man in Athens, sir;

The father of the arts--a nobleman

Of princely liberality and taste,

On whom five hundred starved Pygmalions

May batten if they will.

_Enter PYGMALION._

_Pyg._ Who is this man?

_Ages._ I’m Chrysos’s slave--my name’s Agesimos.

Chrysos has heard of you: he understands

That you have talent, and he condescends

To bid you call on him. But take good care

How you offend him: he can make or mar.

_Pyg._ Your master’s slave reflects his insolence!

Tell him from me that, though I’m poor enough,

I am an artist and a gentleman.

He should not reckon Art among his slaves:

She rules the world--so let him wait on her.

_Ages._ This is a sculptor!

_Pyg._ (_furiously_). And an angry one!

Begone, and take my message to your lord. [_Exit AGESIMOS._

Insolent Hound!

_Enter CYNISCA._

_Cyn._ Pygmalion, what’s amiss?

_Pyg._ Chrysos has sent his slave to render me

The customary tribute paid by wealth

To mere intelligence.

_Cyn._ Pygmalion!

Brooding on the chartered insolence

Of a mere slave! Dismiss the thought at once.

Come, take thy chisel; thou hast work to do

Ere thy wife-model takes her leave to-day;

In half-an-hour I must be on the road

To Athens. Half-an-hour remains to thee--

Come--make the most of it--I’ll pose myself;

Say--will that do?

_Pyg._ I can not work to-day.

My hand’s uncertain--I must rest awhile.

_Cyn._ Then rest and gaze upon thy masterpiece,

’Twill reconcile thee to thyself--Behold!

(_Draws curtain and discovers statue of GALATEA._)

_Pyg._ Yes--for in gazing on my handiwork,

I gaze on heaven’s handiwork--thyself!

_Cyn._ And yet, although it be thy masterpiece,

It has the fault thy patrons find with all

Thy many statues.

_Pyg._ What then do they say?

_Cyn._ They say Pygmalion’s statues have one head--

That head, Cynisca’s.

_Pyg._ So then it’s a fault

To reproduce an hundred thousand fold,

For the advantage of mankind at large,

The happiness the gods have given me!

Well, when I find a fairer head than thine

I’ll give my patrons some variety.

_Cyn._ I would not have thee find another head

That seemed as fair to thee for all the world!

We’ll have no stranger models if you please,

I’ll be your model, sir, as heretofore,

So reproduce me at your will; and yet

It were sheer vanity in me to think

That this fair stone recalls Cynisca’s face!

_Pyg._ Cynisca’s face in every line!

_Cyn._ No, no!

Those outlines softened, angles smoothed away,

The eyebrows arched, the head more truly poised,

The forehead ten years smoother than mine own,

Tell rather of Cynisca as she was

When, in the silent groves of Artemis,

Pygmalion told his love ten years ago:

And then the placid brow, the sweet sad lips,

The gentle head down-bent resignedly,

Proclaim that this is not Pygmalion’s wife,

Who laughs and frowns, but knows no meed between.

I am no longer as that statue is! (_Closes curtains._)

_Pyg._ Why here’s ingratitude, to slander Time,

Who in his hurried course has passed thee by!

Or is it that Cynisca won’t allow

That Time _could_ pass her by, and never pause

To print a kiss upon so fair a face?

_Enter MYRINE._

_Myr._ Pygmalion; I have news.

_Pyg._ My sister, speak.

_Myr._ (_bashfully_). Send Mimos hence.

_Pyg._ (_signs to MIMOS_). Now we are quite alone.

_Myr._ Leucippe--

_Cyn._ Well!

_Myr._ (_to Pyg._) He was thy schoolfellow,

And thou and he are brothers save in blood;

He loves my brother as a brother.

_Pyg._ Yes,

I’m sure of that; but is that all thy news?

There’s more to come!

_Myr._ (_bashfully_). He loves thy sister too.

_Pyg._ Why this is news, Myrine--kiss me girl.

I’m more than happy at thy happiness,

There is no better fellow in the world!

_Cyn._ But tell us all about it, dear. How came

The awkward, bashful, burly warrior,

To nerve himself to this confession?

_LEUCIPPE appears at door._

_Myr._ Why--

He’s here--and he shall tell thee how it was.

_Leuc._ In truth I hardly know! I’m new at it;

I’m but a soldier. Could I fight my way

Into a maiden’s heart, why well and good;

I’d get there, somehow. But to talk and sigh,

And whisper pretty things--I can’t do that!

I tried it, but I stammered, blushed, and failed.

Myrine laughed at me--but, bless her heart,

She knew my meaning, and she pulled me through!

_Myr._ I don’t know how, Pygmalion, but I did.

He stammered, as he tells you, and I laughed;

And then I felt so sorry, when I saw

The great, big, brave Leucippe look so like

A beaten schoolboy--that I think I cried.

And then--I quite forget what happened next,

Till, by some means, we, who had always been

So cold and formal, distant and polite,

Found ourselves--

_Leuc._ Each upon the other’s neck!

You are not angry? (_offering his hand_).

_Pyg._ (_taking it_). Angry? overjoyed!

I wish I had been there, unseen, to see;

No sight could give me greater happiness!

_Leuc._ What! say you so? Why then, Myrine, girl,

We’ll reproduce it for his benefit. (_They embrace._)

See here, Pygmalion, here’s a group for thee!

Come, fetch thy clay, and set to work on it,

I’ll promise thee thy models will not tire!

_Cyn._ How now, Leucippe, where’s the schoolboy blush

That used to coat thy face at sight of her?

_Leuc._ The coating was but thin, we’ve rubbed it off!

(_Kisses MYRINE._)

_Pyg._ Take care of him, Myrine; thou hast not

The safeguard that protects her. (_Indicating CYNISCA._)

_Myr._ What is that?

_Cyn._ It’s a strange story. Many years ago

I was a holy nymph of Artemis,

Pledged to eternal maidenhood!

_Leuc._ Indeed!

_Myr._ How terrible!

_Cyn._ It seemed not so to me;

For weeks and weeks I pondered steadfastly

Upon the nature of that serious step

Before I took it--lay awake at night,

Looking upon it from this point and that,

And I at length determined that the vow,

Which to Myrine seems so terrible,

Was one that I, at all events, could keep.

_Myr._ How old wast thou, Cynisca?

_Cyn._ I was ten!

Well--in due course, I reached eleven, still

I saw no reason to regret the step;

Twelve--thirteen--fourteen saw me still unchanged;

At fifteen, it occurred to me one day

That marriage was a necessary ill,

Inflicted by the gods to punish us,

And to evade it were impiety;

At sixteen the idea became more fixed;

At seventeen I was convinced of it!

_Pyg._ In the mean time she’d seen Pygmalion.

_Myr._ And you confided all your doubts to him?

_Cyn._ I did, and he indorsed them--so we laid

The case before my mistress Artemis;

No need to tell the arguments we used,

Suffice it that they brought about our end.

And Artemis, her icy steadfastness

Thawed by the ardor of Cynisca’s prayers,

Replied, “Go, girl, and wed Pygmalion;

“But mark my words, whichever one of you,

“Or he or she, shall falsify the vow

“Of perfect conjugal fidelity--

“The wronged one, he or she, shall have the power

“To call down _blindness_ on the backslider,

“And sightless shall the truant mate remain

“Until expressly pardoned by the other.”

_Leuc._ It’s fortunate such powers as thine are not

In universal use; for if they were,

One-half the husbands and one-half the wives

Would be as blind as night; the other half,

Having their eyes, would use them--on each other!

_MIMOS enters, and gives PYGMALION a scroll, which he reads._

_Myr._ But then, the power of calling down this doom

Remains with thee. Thou wouldst not burden him

With such a curse as utter sightlessness,

However grievously he might offend?

_Cyn._ I love Pygmalion for his faithfulness;

The act that robs him of that quality

Will rob him of the love that springs from it.

_Myr._ But sightlessness--it is so terrible!

_Cyn._ And faithlessness--it is so terrible!

I take my temper from Pygmalion;

While he is god-like--he’s a god to me,

And should he turn to devil, I’ll turn with him;

I know no half-moods, I am love or hate!

_Myr._ (_to LEUC._) What do you say to that?

_Leuc._ Why, on the whole

I’m glad you’re not a nymph of Artemis!

[_Exeunt MYRINE and LEUCIPPE._

_Pyg._ I’ve brought him to his senses. Presently

My patron Chrysos will be here to earn

Some thousand drachmas.

_Cyn._ How, my love, to earn?

He is a man of unexampled wealth,

And follows no profession.

_Pyg._ Yes, he does;

He is a patron of the Arts, and makes

A handsome income by his patronage.

_Cyn._ How so?

_Pyg._ He is an ignorant buffoon,

But purses hold a higher rank than brains,

And he is rich; wherever Chrysos buys,

The world of smaller fools comes following,

And men are glad to sell their work to him

At half its proper price, that they may say,

“Chrysos has purchased handiwork of ours.”

He is a fashion, and he knows it well

In buying sculpture; he appraises it

As he’d appraise a master-mason’s work--

So much for marble, and so much for time,

So much for working tools--but still he buys,

And so he is a patron of the Arts!

_Cyn._ To think that heaven-born Art should be the slave

Of such as he!

_Pyg._ Well, wealth is heaven-born too.

I work for wealth.

_Cyn._ Thou workest, love, for fame.

_Pyg._ And fame brings wealth. The thought’s contemptible,

But I can do no more than work for wealth.

_Cyn._ Such words from one whose noble work it is

To call the senseless marble into life!

_Pyg._ Life! Dost thou call that life?

(_Indicating statue of GALATEA._)

_Cyn._ It all but breathes!

_Pyg._ (_bitterly_). It all but breathes--therefore it talks aloud!

It all but moves--therefore it walks and runs!

It all but lives, and therefore it is life!

No, no, my love, the thing is cold, dull stone,

Shaped to a certain form, but still dull stone,

The lifeless, senseless mockery of life.

The gods make life: I can make only death!

Why, my Cynisca, though I stand so well,

The merest cut-throat, when he plies his trade,

Makes better death than I, with all my skill!

_Cyn._ Hush, my Pygmalion! the gods are good,

And they have made thee nearer unto them

Than other men; this is ingratitude!

_Pyg._ Not so; has not a monarch’s second son

More cause for anger that he lacks a throne

Than he whose lot is cast in slavery?

_Cyn._ Not much more cause, perhaps, but more excuse.

Now I must go.

_Pyg._ So soon, and for so long!

_Cyn._ One day, ’twill quickly pass away!

_Pyg._ With those

Who measure time by almanacs, no doubt,

But not with him who knows no days save those

Born of the sunlight of Cynisca’s eyes;

It will be night with me till she returns.

_Cyn._ Then sleep it through, Pygmalion! But stay,

Thou shalt _not_ pass the weary hours alone;

Now mark thou this--while I’m away from thee,

_There_ stands my only representative. (_Indicating GALATEA._)

She is my proxy, and I charge you, sir,

Be faithful unto her as unto me;

Into her quietly attentive ear

Pour all thy treasures of hyperbole,

And give thy nimble tongue full license, lest

Disuse should rust its glib machinery;

If thoughts of love should haply crowd on thee,

There stands my other self; tell them to her;

She’ll listen well. (_He makes a movement of impatience._)

Nay, that’s ungenerous,

For she is I, yet lovelier than I,

And hath no temper, sir, and hath no tongue!

Thou hast thy license, make good use of it.

Already I’m half jealous--(_draws curtains_) There, it’s gone.

The thing is but a statue after all,

And I am safe in leaving thee with her;

Farewell, Pygmalion, till I return. (_Kisses him, and exit._)

_Pyg._ “The thing is but a statue after all!”

Cynisca little thought that in those words

She touched the key-note of my discontent--

True, I have powers denied to other men;

Give me a block of senseless marble--Well,

I’m a magician, and it rests with me

To say what kernel lies within its shell;

It shall contain a man, a woman--child--

A dozen men and women if I will.

So far the gods and I run neck and neck;

Nay, so far I can beat them at their trade!

_I_ am no bungler--all the men _I_ make

Are straight-limbed fellows, each magnificent

In the perfection of his manly grace:

_I_ make no crook-backs--all my men are gods,

My women goddesses--in outward form.

But there’s my tether! I can go so far,

And go no farther! At that point I stop,

To curse the bonds that hold me sternly back:

To curse the arrogance of those proud gods,

Who say, “Thou shalt be greatest among men,

“And yet infinitesimally small!”

_Galatea._ Pygmalion!

_Pyg._ Who called?

_Gal._ Pygmalion!

[_PYG. tears away curtain and discovers GALATEA alive._]

_Pyg._ Ye gods! It lives!

_Gal._ Pygmalion!

_Pyg._ It speaks!

I have my prayer! my Galatea breathes!

_Gal._ Where am I? Let me speak, Pygmalion;

Give me thy hand--both hands--how soft and warm!

Whence came I? (_Descends._)

_Pyg._ Why, from yonder pedestal!

_Gal._ That pedestal? Ah, yes, I recollect,

There was a time when it was part of me.

_Pyg._ That time has passed for ever, thou art now

A living, breathing woman, excellent

In every attribute of womankind.

_Gal._ Where am I, then?

_Pyg._ Why, born into the world

By miracle!

_Gal._ Is this the world?

_Pyg._ It is.

_Gal._ This room?

_Pyg._ This room is portion of a house;

The house stands in a grove; the grove itself

Is one of many, many hundred groves

In Athens.

_Gal._ And is Athens then the world?

_Pyg._ To an Athenian--Yes--

_Gal._ And I am one?

_Pyg._ By birth and parentage, not by descent.

_Gal._ But how came I to be?

_Pyg._ Well--let me see.

Oh--you were quarried in Pentelicus;

I modeled you in clay--my artisans

Then roughed you out in marble--I, in turn,

Brought my artistic skill to bear on you,

And made you what you are--in all but life--

The gods completed what I had begun,

And gave the only gift I could not give!

_Gal._ Then this is life?

_Pyg._ It is.

_Gal._ And not long since

I was a cold, dull stone? I recollect

That by some means I knew that I was stone:

That was the first dull gleam of consciousness;

I became conscious of a chilly self,

A cold immovable identity,

I knew that I was stone, and knew no more!

Then, by an imperceptible advance,

Came the dim evidence of outer things,

Seen--darkly and imperfectly--yet seen--

The walls surrounding me, and I, alone.

That pedestal--that curtain--then a voice

That called on Galatea! At that word,

Which seemed to shake my marble to the core,

That which was dim before, came evident.

Sounds, that had hummed around me, indistinct,

Vague, meaningless--seemed to resolve themselves

Into a language I could understand;

I felt my frame pervaded by a glow

That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh;

Its cold hard substance throbbed with active life,

My limbs grew supple, and I moved--I lived!

Lived in the ecstasy of new-born life!

Lived in the love of him that fashioned me!

Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope,

Love, gratitude--thoughts that resolved themselves

Into one word, that word, Pygmalion! (_Kneels to him._)

_Pyg._ I have no words to tell thee of my joy,

O woman--perfect in thy loveliness!

_Gal._ What is that word? Am I a woman?

_Pyg._ Yes.

_Gal._ Art thou a woman?

_Pyg._ No, I am a man.

_Gal._ What _is_ a man?

_Pyg._ A being strongly framed,

To wait on woman, and protect her from

All ills that strength and courage can avert;

To work and toil for her, that she may rest;

To weep and mourn for her, that she may laugh;

To fight and die for her, that she may live!

_Gal._ (_after a pause_). I’m glad I am a woman.

_Pyg._ So am I. (_They sit._)

_Gal._ That I escape the pains thou hast to bear?

_Pyg._ That I may undergo those pains for thee.

_Gal._ With whom then wouldst thou fight?

_Pyg._ With any man

Whose deed or word gave Galatea pain.

_Gal._ Then there are other men in this strange world?

_Pyg._ There are, indeed!

_Gal._ And other women?

_Pyg._ (_taken aback_). Yes.

Though for the moment I’d forgotten it!

Yes, other women.

_Gal._ And for all of these

Men work, and toil, and mourn, and weep, and fight?

_Pyg._ It is man’s duty, if he’s called upon,

To fight for all--he works for those he loves.

_Gal._ Then by thy work I know thou lovest me.

_Pyg._ Indeed, I love thee! (_Embraces her._)

_Gal._ With what kind of love?

_Pyg._ I love thee (_recollecting himself and releasing her_)

as a sculptor loves his work!

(_aside._) There is a diplomacy in that reply.

_Gal._ My love is different in kind to thine:

I am no sculptor, and I’ve done no work,

Yet I do love thee: say--what love is mine?

_Pyg._ Tell me its symptoms, then I’ll answer thee.

_Gal._ Its symptoms? Let me call them as they come.

A sense that I am made _by_ thee _for_ thee;

That I’ve no will that is not wholly thine;

That I’ve no thought, no hope, no enterprise

That does not own _thee_ as its sovereign;

That I have life, that I may live for thee,

That I am thine--that thou and I are one!

What kind of love is that?

_Pyg._ A kind of love

That I shall run some risk in dealing with!

_Gal._ And why, Pygmalion?

_Pyg._ Such love as thine

A man may not receive, except indeed

From one who is, or is to be, his wife.

_Gal._ Then _I_ will be thy wife!

_Pyg._ That may not be;

I have a wife--the gods allow but one.

_Gal._ Why did the gods then send me here to thee?

_Pyg._ I can not say--unless to punish me

For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer!

I prayed that thou shouldst live--I have my prayer,

And now I see the fearful consequence

That must attend it!

_Gal._ Yet thou lovest me?

_Pyg._. Who could look on that face and stifle love?

_Gal._ Then I am beautiful?

_Pyg._ Indeed thou art.

_Gal._ I wish that I could look upon myself,

But that’s impossible.

_Pyg._ Not so indeed.

This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold! (_Hands her a mirror._)

_Gal._ How beautiful! I’m very glad to know

That both our tastes agree so perfectly;

Why, my Pygmalion, I did not think

That aught could be more beautiful than thou,

Till I beheld myself. Believe me, love,

I could look in this mirror all day long.

So I’m a woman!

_Pyg._ There’s no doubt of that!

_Gal._ Oh happy maid, to be so passing fair!

And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze,

At will, upon so beautiful a face!

_Pyg._ Hush! Galatea--in thine innocence

Thou sayest things that others would reprove.

_Gal._ Indeed, Pygmalion; then it is wrong

To think that one is exquisitely fair?

_Pyg._ Well, Galatea, it’s a sentiment

That every other woman shares with thee;

They _think_ it--but they keep it to themselves.

_Gal._ And is thy wife as beautiful as I?

_Pyg._ No, Galatea, for in forming thee

I took her features--lovely in themselves--

And in the marble made them lovelier still.

_Gal._ (_disappointed_). Oh! then I’m not original?

_Pyg._ Well--no--

That is--thou hast indeed a prototype.

But though in stone thou didst resemble her,

In life the difference is manifest.

_Gal._ I’m very glad I’m lovelier than she.

And am I better?

_Pyg._ That I do not know.

_Gal._ Then she has faults?

_Pyg._ But very few indeed;

Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show

That she and I are of one common kin.

I love her all the better for such faults!

_Gal._ (_after a pause_).

Tell me some faults and I’ll commit them now.

_Pyg._ There is no hurry; they will come in time:

Though for that matter, it’s a grievous sin

To sit as lovingly as we sit now.

_Gal._ Is sin so pleasant? If to sit and talk

As we are sitting, be indeed a sin,

Why I could sin all day! But tell me, love,

Is this great fault that I’m committing now,

The kind of fault that only serves to show

That thou and I are of one common kin?

_Pyg._ Indeed, I’m very much afraid it is.

_Gal._ And dost thou love me better for such fault?

_Pyg._ Where is the mortal that could answer “no”?

_Gal._ Why then I’m satisfied, Pygmalion;

Thy wife and I can start on equal terms.

She loves thee?

_Pyg._ Very much.

_Gal._ I’m glad of that.

I like thy wife.

_Pyg._ And why?

_Gal._ Our tastes agree.

We love Pygmalion well, and what is more,

Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife;

I’m sure we shall agree.

_Pyg._ (_aside_). I doubt it much!

_Gal._ Is she within?

_Pyg._ No, she is not within.

_Gal._ But she’ll come back?

_Pyg._ Oh, yes, she will come back.

_Gal._ How pleased she’ll be to know, when she returns,

That there was some one here to fill her place!

_Pyg._ (_dryly_). Yes, I should say she’d be extremely pleased.

_Gal._ Why, there is something in thy voice which says

That thou art jesting! Is it possible

To say one thing and mean another?

_Pyg._ Yes,

It’s sometimes done.

_Gal._ How very wonderful;

So clever!

_Pyg._ And so very useful.

_Gal._ Yes.

Teach me the art.

_Pyg._ The art will come in time.

My wife will _not_ be pleased; there--that’s the truth.

_Gal._ I do not think that I _shall_ like thy wife.

Tell me more of her.

_Pyg._ Well--

_Gal._ What did she say

When last she left thee?

_Pyg._ Humph! Well, let me see:

Oh! true, she gave thee to me as my wife,--

Her solitary representative;

She feared I should be lonely till she came,

And counseled me, if thoughts of love should come,

To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am wont

To speak to her.

_Gal._ That’s right.

_Pyg._ But when she spoke,

Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood,

Which makes a difference!

_Gal._ It’s a strange world!

A woman loves her husband very much,

And can not brook that I should love him too;

She fears he will be lonely till she comes,

And will not let me cheer his loneliness;

She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone,

And when that stone is brought to life--be dumb!

It’s a strange world--I can not fathom it!

_Pyg._ (_aside_). Let me be brave, and put an end to this.

(_aloud_). Come, Galatea--till my wife returns,

My sister shall provide thee with a home;

Her house is close at hand.

_Gal._ (_astonished and alarmed_). Send me not hence,

Pygmalion--let me stay;

_Pyg._ It may not be.

Come, Galatea, we shall meet again.

_Gal._ (_resignedly_). Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion!

But we shall meet again?--and very soon?

_Pyg._ Yes, very soon.

_Gal._ And when thy wife returns,

She’ll let me stay with thee?

_Pyg._ I do not know.

(aside) Why should I hide the truth from her (_aloud_) alas!

I may not see thee then.

_Gal._ Pygmalion!

What fearful words are these?

_Pyg._ The bitter truth.

I may not love thee--I must send thee hence.

_Gal._ Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love!

Was it for this that Heaven gave me life?

Pygmalion, have mercy on me; see,

I am thy work, thou hast created me;

The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine,

Thine! only, and unalterably thine!

This is the thought with which my soul is charged.

Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love,

That thou hast love for her alone: Alas!

I do not know these things--I only know

That Heaven has sent me here to be with thee!

Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife,

Of vows that thou wilt love but her; Alas!

I do not know these things--I only know

That Heaven, who sent me here, has given me

One all-absorbing duty to discharge--

To love thee, and to make thee love again!

[_During this speech PYGMALION has shown symptoms of

irresolution; at its conclusion he takes her in his arms, and

embraces her passionately._]

ACT II.

SCENE: _Same as Act I._

[_PYGMALION discovered at work on an unfinished statue._]

_Pyg._ To-morrow my Cynisca comes to me;

Would that she had never departed hence!

It took a miracle to make me false,

And even then I was but false in thought;

A less exacting wife might be appeased

By that reflection. But Pygmalion

Must be immaculate in every thought,

Even though Heaven’s armaments be ranged

Against the fortress of his constancy!

_Enter MYRINE, in great excitement._

_Myr._ Pygmalion!

_Pyg._ Myrine!

_Myr._ Touch me not,

Thou hast deceived me, and deceived thy wife!

Who is the woman thou didst send to me

To share my roof last night?

_Pyg._ Be pacified;

Judge neither of us hastily; in truth

She is pure, as innocent as thou.

_Myr._ Oh, miserable man--confess the truth!

Disguise not that of which she boasts aloud!

_Pyg._ Of what then does she boast?

_Myr._ To all I say

She answers with one parrot-like reply,

“I love Pygmalion”--and when incensed

I tell her that thou hast a cheated wife,

She only says, “I love Pygmalion,

I and my life are his, and his alone!”

Who is this shameless woman, sir? Confess!

_Pyg._ Myrine, I will tell thee all. The gods,

To punish my expressed impiety,

Have worked a miracle, and brought to life

My statue Galatea!

_Myr._ (_incredulously_). Marvelous,

If it be true!

_Pyg._ It’s absolutely true.

(_MYRINE opens the curtains and sees the pedestal empty._)

_Myr._ The statue’s gone! (_GALATEA appears at door._)

_Pyg._ The statue’s at the door!

_Gal._ At last we meet? Oh! my Pygmalion!

What strange, strange things have happened since we met.

_Pyg._ Why, what has happened to thee?

_Gal._ Fearful things!

(_To MYR._) I went with thee into thine house--

_Myr._ Well, well.

_Gal._ And then I sat alone and wept--and wept

A long, long time for my Pygmalion.

Then by degrees, by tedious degrees,

The light--the glorious light!--the god-sent light!

I saw it sink--sink--sink--behind the world!

Then I grew cold--cold--as I used to be,

Before my loved Pygmalion gave me life.

Then came the fearful thought that, by degrees,

I was returning into stone again!

How bitterly I wept and prayed aloud

That it might not be so! “Spare me, ye gods!

Spare me,” I cried, “for my Pygmalion.

A little longer for Pygmalion!

Oh, take me not so early from my love;

Oh, let me see him once--but once again!”

But no--they heard me not, for they are good,

And had they heard, must needs have pitied me;

They had not seen _thee_, and they did not know

The happiness that I must leave behind.

I fell upon thy couch (_To MYRINE_); my eyelids closed;

My senses faded from me one by one;

I knew no more until I found myself,

After a strange dark interval of time,

Once more upon my hated pedestal,

A statue--motionless--insensible;

And then I saw the glorious gods come down!

Down to this room! the air was filled with them!

They came and looked upon Pygmalion,

And, looking on him, kissed him one by one,

And said, in tones that spoke to me of life,

“We can not take her from such happiness!

Live, Galatea, for his love!” And then

The glorious light that I had lost came back--

There was Myrine’s room, there was her couch,

There was the sun in heaven; and the birds

Sang once more in the great green waving trees,

As I had heard them sing--I lived once more

To look on him I love!

_Myr._ ’Twas but a dream!

Once every day this death occurs to us,

Till thou and I and all who dwell on earth

Shall sleep to wake no more!

_Gal._ To wake no more?

_Pyg._ That time must come--may be not yet awhile--

Still it must come, and we shall all return

To the cold earth from which we quarried thee.

_Gal._ See how the promises of new-born life

Fade from the bright hope-picture, one by one!

Love for Pygmalion, a blighting sin;

_His_ love a shame that he must hide away;

Sleep, stone-like senseless sleep, our natural state;

And life a passing vision born thereof!

How the bright promises fade one by one!

_Myr._ Why there are many men whom thou may’st love;

But not Pygmalion--he has a wife.

_Gal._ Does no one love him?

_Myr._ Certainly--I do.

He is my brother.

_Gal._ Did he give thee life?

_Myr._ Why no; but then--

_Gal._ He did not give thee life,

And yet thou lovest him! And why not I

Who owe my very being to his love?

_Pyg._ Well, thou may’st love me--as a father.

_Myr._ Yes;

He is thy father, for he gave thee life.

_Gal._ Well, as thou wilt; it is enough to know

That I may love thee. Wilt thou love me too?

_Pyg._ Yes, as a daughter; there, that’s understood.

_Gal._ Then I am satisfied.

_Myr._ (_aside_). Indeed I hope

Cynisca also will be satisfied! [_Exit MYRINE._

_Gal._ (_To PYG._) Thou art not going from me?

_Pyg._ For a while.

_Gal._ Oh, take me with thee; leave me not alone

With these cold emblems of my former self! (_Alluding to statues._)

I dare not look on them!

_Pyg._ Leucippe comes,

And he shall comfort thee till I return;

I’ll not be long!

_Gal._ Leucippe! Who’s he?

_Pyg._ A valiant soldier.

_Gal._ What is that?

_Pyg._ A man,

Who’s hired to kill his country’s enemies.

_Gal._ (_horrified_). A paid assassin!

_Pyg._ (_annoyed_). Well, that’s rather strong.

There spoke the thoroughly untutored mind;

So coarse a sentiment might fairly pass

With mere Arcadians--a cultured state

Holds soldiers at a higher estimate.

In Athens--which is highly civilized--

The soldier’s social rank is in itself

Almost a patent of nobility.

_Gal._ He kills! And he is paid to kill!

_Pyg._ No doubt.

But then he kills to save his countrymen.

_Gal._ Whether his countrymen be right or wrong?

_Pyg._ He don’t go into that--it’s quite enough

That there are enemies for him to kill:

He goes and kills them when his orders come.

_Gal._ How terrible! Why, my Pygmalion,

How many dreadful things thou teachest me!

Thou tellest me of death--that hideous doom

That all must fill; and having told me this--

Here is a man, whose business is to kill:

To filch from other men the priceless boon

That thou hast given me--the boon of life--

And thou defendest him!

_Pyg._ I have no time

To make these matters clear--but here he comes,

Talk to him--thou wilt find him kind and good,

Despite his terrible profession.

_Gal._ (_in great terror_). No!

I’ll not be left with him, Pygmalion. Stay!

He is a murderer!

_Pyg._ Ridiculous!

Why, Galatea, he will harm thee not:

He is as good as brave. I’ll not be long,

I’ll soon return. Farewell! [_Exit._

_Gal._ I will obey,

Since thou desirest it; but to be left

Alone with one whose mission is to kill!

Oh, it is terrible!

_Enter LEUCIPPE, with a Fawn that he has shot._

_Leuc._ A splendid shot,

And one that I shall never make again!

_Gal._ Monster! Approach me not! (_Shrinking into corner._)

_Leuc._ Why, who is this?

Nay, I’ll not hurt thee, maiden!

_Gal._ Spare me, sir!

I have not done thy country any wrong!

I am no enemy!

_Leuc._ I’ll swear to that!

Were Athens’ enemies as fair as thou,

She’d never be at loss for warriors.

_Gal._ Oh miserable man, repent! repent!

Ere the stern marble claim you once again.

_Leuc._ I don’t quite understand--

_Gal._ Remember, sir,

The sculptor who designed you, little thought

That when he prayed the gods to give you life,

He turned a monster loose upon the world!

See, there is blood upon those cruel hands!

Oh touch me not!

_Leuc._ (_aside_). Poor crazy little girl!

Why--there’s no cause for fear--I’ll harm thee not--

As for the blood, this will account for it (_showing Fawn_).

_Gal._ What’s that?

_Leuc._ A little fawn.

_Gal._ It does not move!

_Leuc._ No, for I wounded her.

_Gal._ Oh, horrible!

_Leuc._ Poor little thing! ’Twas almost accident;

I lay upon my back beneath a tree,

Whistling the lazy hours away--when lo!

I saw her bounding through a distant glade;

My bow was handy; in sheer wantonness

I aimed an arrow at her, and let fly,

Believing that at near a hundred yards

So small a being would be safe enough,

But, strange to tell, I hit her. Here she is;

She moves--poor little lady! Ah, she’s dead!

_Gal._ Oh, horrible! oh, miserable man!

What have you done?--(_Takes Fawn into her arms_)--

Why, you have murdered her!

Poor little thing! I know not what thou art;

Thy form is strange to me; but thou hadst life,

And he has robbed thee of it! (_Gives it back to LEUC._)

Get you hence!

Ere vengeance overtake you!

_Leuc._ Well, in truth,

I have some apprehension on that score.

It was Myrine’s--though I knew it not!

’Twould pain her much to know that it is dead;

So keep the matter carefully from her

Until I can replace it. [_Exit LEUCIPPE with Fawn._

_Gal._ Get you hence;

I have no compact with a murderer!

_Enter MYRINE._

_Myr._ Why, Galatea, what has frightened thee?

_Gal._ Myrine, I have that to say to thee

That thou must nerve thyself to hear. That man--

The man thou lovest--is a murderer!

_Myr._ Poor little maid! Pygmalion, ere he left,

Told me that by that name thou didst describe

The bravest soldier that our country owns!

He’s no assassin, he’s a warrior.

_Gal._ Then what is an assassin?

_Myr._ One who wars

Only with weak, defenseless creatures. One

Whose calling is to murder unawares.

My brave Leucippe is no murderer.

_Gal._ Thy brave Leucippe is no longer brave,

He is a mere assassin by thy showing.

I saw him with his victim in his arms,

His wicked hands dyed crimson with her blood!

There she lay, cold and stark--her gentle eyes

Glazed with the film of death. She moved but once,

She turned her head to him and tried to speak,

But ere she could articulate a word

Her head fell helplessly, and she was dead!

_Myr._ Why, you are raving, girl! Who told you this?

_Gal._ He owned it; and he gloried in the deed.

He told me how, in arrant wantonness,

He drew his bow, and smote her to the heart!

_Myr._ Leucippe did all this! Impossible!

You must be dreaming!

_Gal._ On my life, it’s true.

See, here’s a handkerchief which still is stained

With her life-blood--I stanched it with my hand.

_Myr._ Who was his victim?

_Gal._ Nay--I can not tell.

Her form was strange to me--but here he comes;

Oh, hide me from that wicked murderer!

_Enter LEUCIPPE._

_Myr._ Leucippe, can this dreadful tale be true?

_Leuc._ (_to GAL., aside_).

Thou should have kept my secret. See, poor girl,

How it distresses her. (_To MYR._) It’s true enough,

But Galatea should have kept it close,

I knew that it would pain thee grievously.

_Myr._ Some devil must have turned Leucippe’s brain!

You did all this?

_Leuc._ Undoubtedly I did.

I saw my victim dancing happily

Across my field of view--I took my bow,

And, at the distance of a hundred yards,

I sent an arrow right into her heart.

There are few soldiers who could do as much.

_Myr._ Indeed, I hope that there are very few.

Oh, miserable man!

_Leuc._ That’s rather hard.

Congratulate me rather on my aim,

Of which I have some reason now to boast;

As for my victim--why, one more or less,

What does it matter? There are plenty left!

And then reflect--indeed, I never thought

That I should hit her at so long a range;

My aim was truer than I thought it was,

And the poor little lady’s dead!

_Myr._ Alas!

This is the calmness of insanity.

What shall we do? Go, hide yourself away--

_Leuc._ But--

_Myr._ Not a word--I will not hear thy voice,

I will not look upon thy face again;

Begone!

_Gal._ Go, sir, or I’ll alarm the house!

_Leuc._ Well, this is sensibility, indeed!

Well, they are women--women judge these things

By some disjointed logic of their own,

That is not given to man to understand.

I’m off to Athens--when your reason comes

Send for me, if you will. Till then, farewell. [_Exit angrily._

_Myr._ Oh, this must be a dream, and I shall wake

To happiness once more!

_Gal._ A dream! no doubt!

We both are dreaming, and we dream the same!

But by what sign, Myrine, can we tell

Whether we dream or wake?

_Myr._ There are some things

Too terrible for truth, and this is one.

_Enter PYGMALION, with Fawn._

_Pyg._ Why, what’s the matter with Leucippe, girl?

I saw him leave the house and mount his horse

With every show of anger.

_Myr._ He is mad,

And he hath done a deed I dare not name.

Did he say aught to thee before he left?

_Pyg._ Yes; when I asked him what had angered him

He threw me this (_showing Fawn_).

_Gal._ (_in extreme of horror_)--His victim! take it hence!

I can not look at it!

_Myr._ Why, what is this?

_Gal._ The being he destroyed in wantonness;

He robbed it of the life the gods had given.

Oh! take it hence, I dare not look on death!

_Myr._ Why, was this all he killed?

_Gal._ (_astonished_). All!!! And enough!

_Myr._ Why, girl--thou must be mad! Pygmalion--

She told me he had murdered somebody,

But knew not whom!

_Pyg._ The girl will drive us mad!

Bid them prepare my horse--I’ll bring him back. [_Exit MYRINE._

_Gal._ Have I done wrong? Indeed, I did not know:

Thou art not angry with me?

_Pyg._ Yes, I am;

I’m more than angry with thee--not content

With publishing thine unmasked love for me,

Thou hast estranged Leucippe from his love

Through thine unwarrantable foolishness.

_Enter MIMOS._

_Mim._ Sir, Chrysos and his lady are without.

_Pyg._ I can not see them now. Stay--show them in. [_Exit MIMOS._

(_To GAL._) Go, wait in there. I’ll join thee very soon.

[_Exit GALATEA._

_Enter DAPHNE._

_Daph._ Where is Pygmalion?

_Pyg._ Pygmalion’s here.

_Daph._ We called upon you many months ago,

But you were not at home--so being here,

We looked around us and we saw the stone

You keep so carefully behind that veil.

_Pyg._ That was a most outrageous liberty.

_Daph._ Sir! Do you know me?

_Pyg._ You are Chrysos’ wife.

Has Chrysos come with you?

_Daph._ He waits without.

I am his herald to prepare you for

The honor he confers. Be civil, sir,

And he may buy that statue; if he does

Your fortune’s made!

_Pyg._ (_to MIMOS_). You’d better send him in. [_Exit MIMOS._

_Enter CHRYSOS._

_Chry._ Well--is the young man’s mind prepared?

_Daph._ It is;

He seems quite calm. Give money for the stone,

I’ve heard that it is far beyond all price,

But run it down; abuse it ere you buy.

_Chry._ (_to PYG._) Where is the statue that I saw last year?

_Pyg._ Sir--it’s unfinished--it’s a clumsy thing.

I am ashamed of it.

_Chry._ It isn’t good.

There’s want of tone; it’s much too hard and thin;

Then the half distances are very crude--

Oh--very crude indeed--then it lacks air,

And wind and motion, massive light and shade;

It’s very roughly scumbled; on my soul

The scumbling’s damnable!

_Daph._ (_aside to him_). Bethink yourself!

That’s said of painting--this is sculpture!

_Chry._ Eh?

It’s the same thing, the principle’s the same;

Now for its price. Let’s see--what will it weigh?

_Daph._ A ton, or thereabouts.

_Chry._ Suppose we say

A thousand drachmas?

_Pyg._ No, no, no, my lord!

The work is very crude and thin, and then

Remember, sir, the scumbling--

_Chry._ Damnable!

But never mind, although the thing is poor,

’Twill serve to hold a candle in my hall.

_Pyg._ Excuse me, sir; poor though that statue be,

I value it beyond all price.

_Chry._ Pooh, pooh!

I give a thousand drachmas for a stone

Which in the rough would not fetch half that sum!

_Daph._ Why bless my soul, young man, are you aware

We gave but fifteen hundred not long since

For an Apollo twice as big as that?

_Pyg._ But pardon me, a sculptor does not test

The beauty of a figure by its bulk.

_Chry._ Ah! then _she_ does.

_Daph._ Young man, you’d best take care,

You are offending Chrysos! [_Exit._

_Chry._ And his wife. (_going._)

_Pyg._ I can not stay to enter into that

Sir, once for all, the statue’s not for sale. [_Exit._

_Chry._ Sir, once for all, I will not be denied;

Confound it--if a patron of the arts

Is thus to be dictated to _by_ art,

What comes of that art patron’s patronage?

He must be taught a lesson--where’s the stone?

(_Goes to pedestal and opens curtains._)

It’s gone! (_Enter GALATEA, he stares at her in astonishment._)

Hallo! What’s this?

_Gal._ Are you unwell?

_Chry._ Oh, no--I fancied just at first--pooh, pooh!

Ridiculous. (_Aside_). And yet it’s very like!

(_Aloud_). I know your face, haven’t I seen you in--

In--in (_puzzling himself_).

_Gal._ In marble? Very probably.

_Chry._ Oh, now I understand. Why this must be

Pygmalion’s model! Yes, of course it is.

A very bold-faced woman, I’ll be bound.

These models always are. I’ll speak with her.

Come hither, maiden.

_Gal._ (_who has been examining him in great wonder_).

Tell, me, what _are_ you?

_Chry._ What _am_ I?

_Gal._ Yes, I mean, are you a man?

_Chry._ Well, yes; I’m told so.

_Gal._ Then believe them not,

They’ve been deceiving you.

_Chry._ The deuce they have!

_Gal._ A man is very tall, and straight, and strong,

With big brave eyes, fair face, and tender voice.

I’ve seen one.

_Chry._ _Have_ you?

_Gal._ Yes, you are no man.

_Chry._ Does the young person take me for a woman?

_Gal._ A woman? No; a woman’s soft and weak,

And fair, and exquisitely beautiful.

_I_ am a woman; you are not like me.

_Chry._ The gods forbid that I should be like you,

And farm my features at so much an hour!

_Gal._ And yet I like you, for you make me laugh;

You are so round and red, your eyes so small,

Your mouth so large, your face so seared with lines,

And then you are so little and so fat!

_Chry._ (_aside_). This is a most extraordinary girl.

_Gal._ Oh, stay--I understand--Pygmalion’s skill

Is the result of long experience.

The individual who modeled you

Was a beginner very probably?

_Chry._ (_puzzled_). No. I have seven elder brothers. Strange

That one so young should be so very bold.

_Gal._ This is not boldness, it is innocence;

Pygmalion says so, and he ought to know.

_Chry._ No doubt, but I was not born yesterday. (_Sits._)

_Gal._ Indeed!--_I was._ (_He beckons her to sit beside him._)

How awkwardly you sit.

_Chry._ I’m not aware that there is any thing

Extraordinary in my sitting down.

The nature of the seated attitude

Does not leave scope for much variety.

_Gal._ I never saw Pygmalion sit like that.

_Chry._ Don’t he sit down like other men?

_Gal._ Of course!

He always puts his arm around my waist.

_Chry._ The deuce he does! Artistic reprobate!

_Gal._ But you do not. Perhaps you don’t know how?

_Chry._ Oh yes; I _do_ know how!

_Gal._ Well, do it then!

_Chry._ It’s a strange whim, but I will humor her.

You’re sure it’s innocence? (_Does so._)

_Gal._ Of course it is.

I tell you I was born but yesterday.

_Chry._ Who is your mother?

_Gal._ Mother! what is that?

I never had one. I’m Pygmalion’s child;

Have people usually mothers?

_Chry._ Well,

That is the rule.

_Gal._ But then Pygmalion

Is cleverer than most men.

_Chry._ Yes, I’ve heard

That he has powers denied to other men,

And I’m beginning to believe it!

_Enter DAPHNE._

_Daph._ Why

What’s this? (_CHRYSOS quickly moves away from GAL._)

_Chry._ My wife!

_Daph._ Can I believe my eyes? (_GAL. rises._)

_Chry._ No!

_Daph._ Who’s this woman? Why, how very like--

_Chry._ Like what?

_Daph._ That statue that we wished to buy.

The self-same face, the self-same drapery,

In every detail it’s identical.

Why, one would almost think Pygmalion,

By some strange means, had brought the thing to life,

So marvelous her likeness to that stone!

_Chry._ (_aside._) A very good idea, and one that I

May well improve upon. It’s rather rash,

But desperate ills need desperate remedies.

Now for a good one. Daphne, calm yourself.

You know the statue that we spoke of? Well,

The gods have worked a miracle on it,

And it has come to life. Behold it here!

_Daph._ Bah! Do you think me mad?

_Gal._ His tale is true.

I was a cold unfeeling block of stone,

Inanimate--insensible--until

Pygmalion, by the ardor of his prayers,

Kindled the spark of life within my frame,

And made me what I am!

_Chry._ (_aside to GAL._) That’s very good;

Go on and keep it up.

_Daph._ You brazen girl,

I am his wife!

_Gal._ His wife? (_To CHRYSOS._) Then get you hence.

I may not love you when your wife is here.

_Daph._ Why, what unknown audacity is this?

_Chry._ It’s the audacity of innocence:

Don’t judge her by the rules that govern you,

She was born yesterday, and you were _not_!

_Enter MIMOS._

_Mim._ My lord, Pygmalion’s here.

_Chry._ (_aside_). He’ll ruin all.

_Daph._ (_to MIMOS_). Who is this woman?

_Chry._ Why, I’ve told you, she--

_Daph._ Stop, not a word! I’ll have it from _his_ lips!

_Gal._ Why ask him when I tell you--?

_Daph._ Hold _your_ tongue!

(_To MIMOS._) Who is this woman? If you tell a lie

I’ll have you whipped.

_Mim._ Oh, I shall tell no lie!

That is a statue that has come to life.

_Chry._ (_Aside to MIMOS_).

I’m very much obliged to you! (_Gives him money._)

_Enter MYRINE._

_Myr._ What’s this?

Is any thing the matter?

_Daph._ Certainly.

This woman--

_Myr._ Is a statue come to life.

_Chry._ I’m very much obliged to _you_!

_Enter PYGMALION._

_Pyg._ How now Chrysos?

_Chry._ The statue!--

_Daph._ Stop!

_Chry._ Let me explain.

The statue that I purchased--

_Daph._ Let me speak.

Chrysos--this girl, Myrine, and your slave,

Have all agreed to tell me she is--

_Pyg._ The statue, Galatea, come to life?

Undoubtedly she is!

_Chry._ It seems to me,

I’m very much obliged to every one!

_Enter CYNISCA._

_Cyn._ Pygmalion, my love!

_Pyg._ Cynisca here!

_Cyn._ And even earlier than hoped to be.

(_Aside_). Why, who are these? (_Aloud._) I beg your pardon, sir,

I thought my husband was alone.

_Daph._ (_maliciously_). No doubt.

I also thought _my_ husband was alone:

We wives are too confiding.

_Cyn._ (_aside to PYGMALION_). Who are these?

_Pyg._ Why, this is Chrysos, this is Daphne. They

Have come--

_Daph._ On very different errands, sir.

Chrysos has come to see this brazen girl:

I have come after Chrysos--

_Chry._ As you keep

So strictly to the sequence of events

Add this--Pygmalion came after _you_!

_Cyn._ Who is this lady (_alluding to GALATEA_)? Why, impossible!

_Daph._ Oh, not at all!

_Cyn._ (_turning to pedestal_). And yet the statue’s gone!

_Pyg._ Cynisca, miracles have taken place;

The gods have given Galatea life!

_Cyn._ Oh, marvelous! Is this indeed the form

That my Pygmalion fashioned with his hands?

_Pyg._ Indeed it is.

_Cyn._ Why, let me look at her!

Yes, it’s the same fair face--the same fair form;

Clad in the same fair folds of drapery!

_Gal._ And dost thou know me then?

_Cyn._ Hear her! she speaks!

Our Galatea speaks aloud! Know thee?

Why I have sat for hours, and watched thee grow;

Sat--motionless as thou--wrapped in his work,

Save only that in very ecstasy

I hurried ever and anon to kiss

The glorious hands that made thee all thou art!

Come--let me kiss thee with a sister’s love (_kisses her_).

See, she _can_ kiss!

_Daph._ Yes, I’ll be bound she can!

_Cyn._ Why, my Pygmalion, where is the joy

That ought to animate that face of thine,

Now that the gods have crowned thy wondrous skill?

_Chry._ (_aside to PYG._)

Stick to our story; bold-faced though she be,

She’s very young, and may perhaps repent;

It’s terrible to have to tell a lie,

But if it must be told--why, tell it well!

_Cyn._ I see it all. I have returned too soon.

_Daph._ No, I’m afraid you have returned too late!

Cynisca, never leave that man again,

Or leave him altogether!

_Cyn._ (_astonished_). Why, what’s this?

_Gal._ Oh, madam, bear with him, and blame him not;

Judge him not hastily; in every word,

In every thought he has obeyed thy wish.

Thou badst him speak to me as unto thee;

And he and I have sat as lovingly

As if thou hadst been present to behold

How faithfully thy wishes were obeyed!

_Cyn._ Pygmalion! What is this?

_Pyg._ (_to GAL._) Go, get thee hence;

Thou shouldst not see the fearful consequence

That must attend those heedless words of thine!

_Gal._ Judge him not hastily, he’s not like this

When he and I are sitting here alone.

He has two voices, and two faces, madam,

One for the world, and one for him and me!

_Cyn._ Thy wife against thine eyes! those are the stakes!

Well, thou hast played thy game, and thou hast lost!

_Pyg._ Cynisca, hear me! In a cursed hour

I prayed for power to give that statue life.

My impious prayer aroused the outraged gods,

They are my judges, leave me in their hands;

I have been false to them, but not to thee!

Spare me!

_Cyn._ Oh, pitiful adventurer!

He dares to lose, but does not dare to pay!

Come, be a man! See, _I_ am brave enough,

And I have more to bear than thou! Behold!

I am alone, thou hast thy statue bride!

Oh, Artemis, my mistress, hear me now,

Ere I remember how I love that man,

And in that memory forget my shame!

If he in deed or thought hath been untrue,

Be just and let him pay the penalty!

(_PYGMALION, with an exclamation, covers his eyes with his

hands._)

_Gal._ Cynisca, pity him!

_Cyn._ I know no pity, woman; for the act

That thawed thee into flesh has hardened me

Into the cursed stone from which thou cam’st.

We have changed places; from this moment forth

Be _thou_ the wife and I the senseless stone!

(_Thrusts GALATEA from her._)

ACT III.

SCENE: _Same as Acts I. and II._

_Enter DAPHNE._

_Daph._ It seems Pygmalion _has_ the fearful gift

Of bringing stone to life. I’ll question him

And ascertain how far that power extends.

_Enter MYRINE, weeping._

Myrine--and in tears! Why, what’s amiss?

_Myr._ Oh, we were all so happy yesterday,

And now, within twelve miserable hours,

A blight has fallen upon all of us.

Pygmalion is blind as death itself,

Cynisca leaves his home this very day,

And my Leucippe hath deserted me!

I shall go mad with all this weight of grief!

_Daph._ All this is Galatea’s work?

_Myr._ Yes, all.

_Daph._ But can’t you stop her? Shut the creature up,

Dispose of her, or break her? Won’t she chip?

_Myr._ No, I’m afraid not.

_Daph._ Ah, were I his wife,

I’d spoil her beauty! There’d be little chance

Of finding him and her alone again!

_Myr._ There’s little need to take precautions now,

For he, alas! is blind!

_Daph._ Blind! What of that?

Man has five senses; if he loses one

The vital energy on which it fed

Goes to intensify the other four.

He had five arrows in his quiver; well,

He has shot one away, and four remain.

My dear, an enemy is not disarmed

Because he’s lost one arrow out of five!

_Myr._ The punishment he undergoes might well

Content his wife!

_Daph._ A happy woman, that!

_Myr._ Cynisca happy?

_Daph._ To be sure she is;

She has the power to punish faithlessness,

And she has used it on her faithless spouse.

Had I Cynisca’s privilege, I swear

I’d never let my Chrysos rest in peace,

Until he warranted my using it!

Pygmalion’s wronged her, and she’s punished him.

What more could woman want?

_Enter CYNISCA._

_Cyn._ What more? Why, this!

The power to tame my tongue to speak the words

That would restore him to his former self!

The power to quell the fierce, unruly soul

That battles with my miserable heart!

The power to say, “Oh, my Pygmalion,

My love is thine to hold or cast away,

Do with it as thou wilt; it can not die!”

I’d barter half my miserable life

For power to say these few true words to him!

_Myr._ Why, then there’s hope for him?

_Cyn._ There’s none indeed!

This day I’ll leave his home and hide away

Where I can brood upon my shame. I’ll fan

The smoldering fire of jealousy until

It bursts into an all-devouring flame,

And pray that I may perish in its glow!

_Daph._ That’s bravely said, Cynisca! Never fear;

Pygmalion will give thee wherewithal

To nurture it.

_Cyn._ (_passionately_). I need not wherewithal!

I carry wherewithal within my heart!

Oh, I can conjure up the scene at will

When he and she sit lovingly alone.

I know too well the devilish art he works,

And how his guilty passion shapes itself.

I follow him through every twist and turn

By which he wormed himself into _my_ heart;

I hear him breathing to the guilty girl

The fond familiar nothings of _our_ love;

I hear him whispering into _her_ ear

The tenderness that he rehearsed on me.

I follow him through all his well-known moods--

Now fierce and passionate, now fanciful;

And ever tuning his accursed tongue

To chime in with the passion at her heart:

Oh, never fear that I shall starve the flame!

When jealousy takes shelter in _my_ heart,

It does not die for lack of sustenance!

_Daph._ Come to my home, and thou shalt feed it there;

We’ll play at widows, and we’ll pass our time

Railing against the perfidy of man.

_Cyn._ But Chrysos?--

_Daph._ Chrysos? Oh, you won’t see him.

_Cyn._ How so?

_Daph._ How so? I’ve turned him out of doors!

Why, does the girl consider jealousy

Her unassailable prerogative?

Thou hast thy vengeance on Pygmalion--

He can no longer feast upon _thy_ face.

Well, Chrysos can no longer feast on mine!

I can’t _put out_ his eyes (I wish I could!)

But I can _shut_ them out, and that I’ve done.

_Cyn._ I thank you, madam, and I’ll go with you.

_Myr._ No, no; thou shalt not leave Pygmalion;

He will not live if thou desertest him.

Add nothing to his pain--this second blow

Might well complete the work thou hast begun!

_Cyn._ Nay, let me go--I must not see his face;

For if I look on him I may relent.

Detain me not, Myrine--fare thee well!

[_Exit CYNISCA, MYRINE follows her._

_Daph._ Well, there’ll be pretty scenes in Athens now

That statues may be vivified at will. (_CHRYSOS enters unobserved._)

Why, I have daughters--all of them of age--

What chance is there for plain young women, now

That every man may take a block of stone

And carve a family to suit his tastes?

_Chry._ If every woman were a Daphne, man

Would never care to look on sculptured stone!

Oh, Daphne!

_Daph._ Monster--get you hence, away!

I’ll hold no converse with you, get you gone.

(_Aside_) If I’d Cynisca’s tongue I’d wither him!

(_Imitating CYNISCA_) “Oh, I can conjure up the scene at will

“Where you and she sit lovingly alone!

“Oh, never fear that I will starve the flame:

“When jealousy takes shelter in _my_ heart,

“It does not die for lack of sustenance!”

_Chry._ I’m sure of that! your hospitality

Is world-renowned. Extend it, love, to me!

Oh, take me home again!

_Daph._ Home? no, not I!

Why I’ve a gallery of goddesses,

Fifty at least--half-dressed bacchantes, too--

Dryads and water-nymphs of every kind;

Suppose I find, when I go home to-day,

That they’ve all taken it into _their_ heads

To come to life--what would become of them,

Or me, with Chrysos in the house? No--no,

They’re bad enough in marble--but in flesh!!!

I’ll sell the bold-faced hussies one and all,

But till I’ve sold them, Chrysos stops outside!

_Chry._ What _have_ I done?

_Daph._ What have you _not_ done sir?

_Chry._ I can not tell you--it would take too long!

_Daph._ I saw you sitting with that marble minx,

Your arm pressed lovingly around her waist.

Explain _that_ Chrysos.

_Chry._ It explains itself:

I am a zealous patron of the arts.

And I am very fond of statuary.

_Daph._ Bah--I’ve artistic tastes as well as you.

But still, you never saw _me_ sitting with

My arms around a stone Apollo’s waist!

As for this “statue”--could I see her now,

I’d test your taste for fragments!

_Chry._ Spare the girl,

She’s very young and very innocent;

She claims your pity.

_Daph._ _Does_ she?

_Chry._ Yes, she does.

If I saw Daphne sitting with her arm

Round an Apollo, I should pity _him_.

_Daph._ (_relenting_). Would you?

_Chry._ I should, upon my word, I should.

_Daph._ Well, Chrysos, thou art pardoned. After all

The circumstances were exceptional.

_Chry._ (_aside_). Unhappily, they were!

_Daph._ Come home, but mind

I’ll sell my gallery of goddesses;

No good can come of animating stone.

_Chry._ Oh, pardon me--why every soul on earth

Sprang from the stones Deucalion threw behind.

_Daph._ But then Deucalion only _threw_ the stones,

He left it to the gods to fashion them.

_Chry._ (_aside--looking at her_).

And we who’ve seen the work the gods turn out,

Would rather leave it to Pygmalion!

_Daph._ (_taking CHRYSOS’ arm, who is looking at a statue of

Venus._) Come along, do! [_Exeunt._

_Enter MYRINE, in great distress._

_Myr._ Pygmalion’s heard that he must lose his wife,

And swears, by all the gods that reign above,

He will not live if she deserts him now!

What--what is to be done?

_Enter GALATEA._

_Gal._ Myrine here!

Where is Pygmalion?

_Myr._ Oh, wretched girl!

Art thou not satisfied with all the ill

Thy heedlessness has worked, that thou art come

To gaze upon thy victim’s misery?

Well, thou hast come in time!

_Gal._ What dost thou mean?

_Myr._ Why this is what I mean--he will not live

Now that Cynisca has deserted him.

Oh, girl, his blood will be upon thy head!

_Gal._ Pygmalion will not live! Pygmalion die!

And I, alas, the miserable cause!

Oh, what is to be done?

_Myr._ I do not know.

And yet there is one chance, but one alone;

I’ll see Cynisca, and prevail on her

To meet Pygmalion but once again.

_Gal._ (_wildly_). But should she come too late? He may not live

Till she returns.

_Myr._ I’ll send him now to thee,

And tell him that his wife awaits him here.

He’ll take thee for Cynisca; when he speaks,

Answer thou him as if thou wast his wife.

_Gal._ Yes, yes, I understand.

_Myr._ Then I’ll be gone.

The gods assist thee in this artifice! [_Exit MYRINE._

_Gal._ The gods will help me, for the gods are good.

Oh, Heaven, in this great grief I turn to thee.

Teach me to speak to him, as, ere I lived,

Cynisca spake to him. Oh, let my voice

Be to Pygmalion as Cynisca’s voice,

And he will live--for her and not for me--

Yet he will live. I am the fountain head

_Enter PYGMALION, unobserved, led by MYRINE._

Of all the horrors that surround him now,

And it is fit that I should suffer this;

Grant this, my first appeal--I do not ask

Pygmalion’s love; I ask Pygmalion’s life!

(_PYGMALION utters an exclamation of joy. She rushes to him and

seizes his hand._)

Pygmalion!

_Pyg._ I have no words in which

To tell the joy with which I heard that prayer.

Oh, take me to thine arms, my dearly loved!

And teach me once again how much I risked

In risking such a heaven-sent love as thine.

_Gal._ (_believing that he refers to her_).

Pygmalion! my love! Pygmalion!

Once more those words! again! say them again!

Tell me that thou forgivest me the ill

That I unwittingly have worked on thee!

_Pyg._ Forgive _thee_? Why, my wife, I did not dare

To ask _thy_ pardon, and thou askest mine,

The compact with thy mistress Artemis

Gave thee a heaven-sent right to punish me.

I’ve learnt to take whate’er the gods may send.

(_GALATEA, at first delighted, learns in the course of this

speech that PYGMALION takes her for CYNISCA, and expresses

extreme anguish._)

_Gal._ (_with an effort._) But then, this woman, Galatea--

_Pyg._ Well?

_Gal._ Thy love for her is dead?

_Pyg._ I had no love.

_Gal._ Thou hadst no love?

_Pyg._ No love. At first, in truth,

In mad amazement at the miracle

That crowned my handiwork, and brought to life

The fair creation of my sculptor’s skill,

I yielded to her god-sent influence,

For I had worshiped her before she lived

Because she called Cynisca’s face to me;

But when she lived--that love died, word by word.

_Gal._ That is well said; thou dost not love her then?

She is no more to thee than senseless stone?

_Pyg._ Speak not of her, Cynisca, for I swear

_Enter CYNISCA, unobserved._

The unhewn marble of Pentelicus

Hath charms for me, which she, in all her glow

Of womanly perfection, could not match.

_Gal._ I’m very glad to hear that this is so.

Thou art forgiven! (_Kisses his forehead._)

_Pyg._ Thou hast pardoned me,

And though the law of Artemis declared

Thy pardon should restore to me the light

Thine anger took away, I would be blind,

I would not have mine eyes lest they should rest

On her who caused me all this bitterness!

_Gal._ Indeed, Pygmalion--’twere better thus--

If thou couldst look on Galatea now,

Thy love for her, perchance, might come again!

_Pyg._ No, no.

_Gal._ They say that she endureth pains

That mock the power of words!

_Pyg._ It should be so!

_Gal._ Hast thou _no_ pity for her?

_Pyg._ No, not I.

The ill that she hath worked on thee--on me--

And on Myrine--surely were enough

To make us curse the hour that gave her life.

She is not fit to live upon this world!

_Gal._ (_bitterly_). Upon this worthy world, thou sayest well,

The woman shall be seen of thee no more.

(_Takes CYNISCA’S hand and leads her to PYG._)

What wouldst thou with her now? _Thou hast thy wife!_

(_She substitutes CYNISCA, and retires, weeping. CYNISCA takes

him to her arms and kisses him. He recovers his sight._)

_Pyg._ Cynisca! see! the light of day is mine!

Once more I look upon thy well-loved face!

_Enter MYRINE and LEUCIPPE._

_Leu._ Pygmalion! Thou hast thine eyes again!

Come--this is happiness indeed!

_Pyg._ And thou!

Myrine has recalled thee?

_Leu._ No, I came,

But more in sorrow than in penitence;

For I’ve a hardened and a blood-stained heart!

I thought she would denounce me to the law,

But time, I found, had worked a wondrous change;

The very girl, who half-a-day ago

Had cursed me for a ruthless murderer,

Not only pardoned me my infamy,

But absolutely hugged me with delight,

When she, with hungry and unpitying eyes,

Beheld my victim--at the kitchen fire!

The little cannibal!

_Enter GALATEA._

_Pyg._ Away from me,

Woman or statue! Thou the only blight

That ever fell upon my love--begone,

For thou hast been the curse of all who fell

Within the compass of thy waywardness!

_Cyn._ No, no--recall those words, Pygmalion,

Thou knowest not all.

_Gal._ Nay--let me go from him;

That curse--_his_ curse--still ringing in mine ears,

For life is bitterer to me than death.

(_She mounts the steps of pedestal._)

Farewell, Pygmalion! Farewell! Farewell!

(_The curtains conceal her._)

_Cyn._ Thou art unjust to her as I to thee!

_Hers_ was the voice that pardoned thee--not mine.

I knew no pity till she taught it me.

I heard the words she spoke, and little thought

That they would find an echo in my heart;

But so it was. I took them for mine own,

And asking for thy pardon, pardoned thee!

_Pyg._ (_amazed_). Cynisca! Is this so?

_Cyn._ In truth it is!

_Gal._ (behind curtain). Farewell, Pygmalion! Farewell! Farewell!

(_PYGMALION rushes to the veil and tears it away, discovering

GALATEA as a statue on the pedestal, as in Act I._)

CHARITY:

_A Play_,

IN FOUR ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

DR. ATHELNEY, _a Colonial Bishop-Elect_ MR. CHIPPENDALE.

TED ATHELNEY, _his son, aged 38_ MR. TEESDALE.

MR. SMAILEY, _a Country Gentleman, aged 60_ MR. HOWE.

FRED SMAILEY, _his son, aged 22_ MR. KENDAL.

MR. FITZ PARTINGTON, _a Private Inquiry Officer_ MR. BUCKSTONE.

BUTLER MR. CLARK.

FOOTMAN MR. JAMES.

MRS. VAN BRUGH, _a widow, aged 35_ MISS M. ROBERTSON.

(MRS. KENDAL.)

EVE, _her daughter, aged 17_ MISS AMY ROSELLE.

RUTH TREDGETT, _a tramp, aged 37_ MISS WOOLGAR.

(MRS. A. MELLON.)

ACTS I. AND II.

_BOUDOIR IN MRS. VAN BRUGH’S COUNTRY HOUSE._

ACT III.

_ROOM IN MR. SMAILEY’S HOUSE._

ACT IV.

_LIBRARY AT DR. ATHELNEY’S._

[_A few days’ interval between each Act._]

CHARITY.

ACT I.

SCENE: _A pretty boudoir in Mrs. Van Brugh’s country-house._

_EVE discovered with FREDERICK; FREDERICK on chair, EVE on footstool._

_Fred._ (_dictating to EVE, who writes in a memorandum book at

his feet_). Let me see. Three hundred oranges, six hundred buns,

thirty gallons of tea, twelve large plum cakes. So much for the

school-children’s bodies. As for their minds--

_Eve._ Oh, we’ve taken great care of their minds. In the first place,

the amateur minstrels from Locroft are coming, with some lovely part

songs.

_Fred._ Part songs. Come, that’s well. Dr. Watts?

_Eve._ Oh dear, no. Doctors Moore and Burgess!--Much jollier. (_He

shakes his head gravely._) Then we have a magic lantern. Here are the

views. (_Handing them._)

_Fred._ (_examining them_). A person on horseback, galloping at full

speed. Here he is again. Probably the flight of Xerxes.

_Eve._ No--the flight of John Gilpin.

_Fred._ Very trivial, Eve dear; very trivial.

_Eve._ Oh, but it will amuse them much more than the flight of Xerxes.

_Fred._ (_gravely_). My dear Eve, is this giddiness quite consistent

with the nature of the good work before us?

_Eve._ Mayn’t one be good and jolly too?

_Fred._ Scarcely. Grave work should be undertaken gravely, and with a

sense of responsibility.

_Eve._ But I don’t call a school feast grave work.

_Fred._ All work is grave when one has regard to the issues that may

come of it. This school feast, trivial as it may seem to you--this

matter of buns and big plum cakes--may be productive, for instance, of

much--of much--

_Eve._ Indigestion? That’s grave indeed! (_He seems annoyed._) There,

I’m very sorry I teased you, dear old boy; but you look at every thing

from such a serious point of view.

_Fred._ Am I too serious? Perhaps I am. And yet in my quiet

undemonstrative way I am very happy.

_Eve._ If _you_ are not happy dear, who _should_ be?

_Fred._ Yes, Eve, who indeed! (_Kisses her._)

_Eve._ I did not mean that. There is very little in me to make such a

man as you happy, unless it be the prospect of making me as good and

earnest as yourself--a poor prospect, I’m afraid, for I’m a very silly

little girl.

_Fred._ At least I will try.

_Eve._ Begin now; tell me of my faults.

_Fred._ No, no; that would be a very ungrateful task.

_Eve._ Oh, if you neglect all tasks that are not pleasant, you are too

like me to allow of my hoping to learn any thing of you.

_Fred._ Very aptly put, Eve. Well then, you are too giddy, and too apt

to laugh when you should sigh.

_Eve._ Oh, but I am naturally rather--jolly. Mamma has taught me to be

so. Mamma’s views are so entirely opposed to yours.

_Fred._ Yes; I am deeply sorry for it. If it were not so, perhaps Mrs.

Van Brugh would like me better.

_Eve._ Mamma does like you, dear. She thinks you are very grave and

precise and methodical, but I am sure she likes you--or why did she

consent to our engagement?

_Fred._ Because she loves you so well that she has the heart to thwart

you in nothing. She is an admirable woman--good, kind--charitable

beyond measure--beloved, honored, and courted by all----

_Eve._ The best woman in the world!

_Fred._ But she does not understand me. Well, time will work a change,

and I must be content to wait.

_Enter SERVANT._

_Servant._ Mr. Edward Athelney, miss, is in the drawing room.

_Eve._ Dear me, how tiresome.

_Fred._ (_calmly_). Miss Van Brugh is not at home.

_Eve._ (_astonished_). Oh, Frederick, I am! [_Exit SERVANT._

_Fred._ Well, yes, of course in one sense you certainly are. But being

engaged upon a good work, with which an interruption would seriously

interfere, you may be said--metaphorically, of course, and for the

purposes of this particular case--to be, to a certain extent, out.

_Eve._ (_puzzled_). I am quite sure I am at home, dear, in every

possible sense of the word. You don’t dislike Edward, do you?

_Fred._ You know very well that I dislike no one.

_Eve._ I’m sure of that. You love all men.

_Fred._ No doubt, Eve, I love all men. But you will understand that I

love some men less than others; and, although I love Edward Athelney

very much indeed, I love him, perhaps, less than anybody else in the

world.

_Eve._ But this is quite astonishing! Has Ted Athelney a fault? What

is it? Come, sir, name one fault if you can. And mind, he’s my big

brother, or as good, so be careful.

_Fred._ “Frater nascitur non fit.”

_Eve._ Oh!

_Fred._ I don’t believe in your amateur brother. With every desire to

confine himself to the duties of the character he undertakes, he is

nevertheless apt to overlook the exact point where the brother ends and

the lover begins.

_Eve._ (_puzzled_). The lover!

_Fred._ The brother by birth keeps well within bounds, but the amateur

treads so often on the border line that in time it becomes obliterated

and the functions merge.

_Eve._ Ted Athelney a lover of mine! Oh, that’s too absurd. Ted

Athelney--that great, clumsy, middle-aged, awkward, good-natured,

apple-faced man, a lover of anybody’s, and least of all, of mine! Why

he’s forty! Oh, it’s shocking--it’s horrible! I won’t hear any thing so

dreadful of any one I love so much.

_Fred._ You admit that you love him?

_Eve._ Oh, yes, I _love_ him--but I don’t LOVE him. (_Nestling against

FRED._) Don’t _you_ understand the difference?

_Fred._ I don’t like his calling you Eve.

_Eve._ Why you wouldn’t have him--oh, you never _could_ want Ted

Athelney to call me Miss Van Brugh?

_Fred._ Then he kisses you.

_Eve._ Of course he does, dear. Kisses me? So does mamma!

_Fred._ No doubt, but there’s some difference.

_Eve._ A difference! What difference?

_Fred._ This, if no other: that I object to the one, and don’t object

to the other. (_Turns away._)

_Eve._ (_disappointed_). Then I’m not to kiss Ted Athelney any more.

_Enter TED ATHELNEY._

_Ted._ Well, Eve, old lady, here I am, back again--well and hearty.

_Eve._ Ted, stand back; I’m not to kiss you.

_Ted._ Eh? Why not?

_Eve._ It’s wrong. Isn’t it? (_To FRED._)

_Fred._ I’m sorry you think it necessary to ask the question.

_Eve._ There, Ted. Only think of the wrong we’ve been doing for years

and years, and never knew it!

_Ted._ But who told you it was wrong. Not conscience, I’ll be sworn.

_Eve._ No; that’s the worst of it. There’s something wrong with

my conscience; it doesn’t seem to be up to its work. From some

motive--mistaken politeness, perhaps--it declines to assert itself.

Awful, isn’t it?

_Ted._ Come, something’s happened during my absence in town; tell me

what it is.

_Eve._ Something of a tremendous nature _has_ happened! Ted Athelney, I

mustn’t call you Ted Athelney any longer!

_Ted._ What?

_Eve._ And I mustn’t let you kiss me, because I’m going to be married.

_Ted._ Married! (_Starting._)

_Eve._ Yes.

_Ted._ To--? (_Indicating FREDERICK._)

_Eve._ Yes. (_He is much agitated._) Won’t you tell me that you are

glad to hear it?

_Ted._ (_after a pause_). Yes, Eve, I’m glad of any thing that makes

you happy. It has come upon me very suddenly. I never thought of your

getting married. I was a great ass, for it must have come about some

time or other, and why not now? and it must have been to some fellow,

and why not Fred Smailey? God bless you, Eve. I must get it well into

my mind before I can talk about it, and mine is a mind that takes a

good deal of getting at. I hope and believe that you will be happy.

(_She retires._)

Fred, old man----

(_Goes to FRED; takes his hand and tries to speak, but in vain._)

_Enter MRS. VAN BRUGH._

_Mrs. V. B._ Well, I’ve done for myself now; go away from me; I’m a

pariah, an outcast; don’t, for goodness’ sake, be seen talking with me.

_Eve._ Why, mamma, dear, what on earth have you been doing?

_Mrs. V. B._ Doing? Listen and shudder! I’ve put a Dissenter into my

almshouses! (_Sits at table._)

_Fred._ (_rising_). A Dissenter?

_Mrs. V. B._ A real live Dissenter. Isn’t it awful!

_Fred._ No, awful is too strong a term; but I think it was a very, very

sad mistake.

_Mrs. V. B._ A thousand thanks for your toleration--I shall never

forget it. The village is outraged--they have stood my eccentricities

long enough. It was bad enough when I put a Roman Catholic in, but

in consideration of the almshouses being my own they were good enough

to swallow the Roman Catholic. Then came a Jew--well, the village was

merciful, and with a few wry faces they swallowed even the Jew. But a

Dissenter! The line _must_ be drawn somewhere, and High and Low Church

are agreed that it must be drawn at Dissenters. The churchwardens look

the other way when I pass. The clerk’s religious zeal causes him to

turn into the “Red Cow,” rather than touch his hat to me, and even the

dirty little boys run after me shouting “No Popery” at the top of their

voices, though I’m sure I don’t see how it applies.

_Fred._ But, my dear Mrs. Van Brugh, you mean well I’m sure--but a Jew,

a Catholic, and a Dissenter!--is there no such thing as a starving

Churchman to be found?

_Mrs. V. B._ There are but too many starving men of all denominations,

but while I’m hunting out the Churchman, the Jew, the Catholic and the

Dissenter will perish, and that would never do, would it?

_Fred._ That is the Christianity of impulse. I would feed him that

belonged to my own church, and if he did not belong to it, I would not

feed him at all.

_Mrs. V. B._ That is the Christianity of Religious Politics. As to

these poor people, they will shake down and agree very well in time.

Nothing is so conducive to toleration as the knowledge that one’s bread

depends upon it. It applies to all conditions of life, from almshouses

to Happy Families. Where are you going?

_Eve._ We are going down to the school to see the cakes and oranges and

decorations----

_Fred._ (_seriously_). And to impress upon the children the danger of

introducing inharmonious elements into _their_ little almshouses.

_Mrs. V. B._ Well, I hope you’ll be more successful with them than with

me. Their case is much more critical than mine, I assure you. (_Exeunt

EVE and FRED. MRS. VAN BRUGH sees EDWARD, who is sitting at back,

with his head between his hands._) Why, who’s this? Edward Athelney,

returned at last to his disconsolate village? Go away, sir--don’t come

near me--you’re a reprobate--you’ve been in London ten days and nobody

to look after you. Give an account of yourself. It’s awful to think

of the villainy a thoroughly badly disposed young man can get through

in ten days in London, if I’m not there to look after him--come, sir,

all your crimes, please, in alphabetical order--now then, A--Arson.

Any arson? No? Quite sure? Come now, that’s something--Then we go to

Burglary? Bigamy? No Bigamy? Come, it’s not as bad as I thought.--Why

(_seeing that he looks very wretched_), what on earth is the

matter--why, my poor Ted--what is distressing you? I never saw you look

so wretched in my life!

_Ted._ Oh! Mrs. Van Brugh, I’m awfully unhappy!

_Mrs. V. B._ My poor old friend--tell me all about it.

_Ted._ It’s soon told--Mrs. Van Brugh, you have a daughter, who’s the

best and loveliest girl I ever saw in my life.

_Mrs. V. B._ (_pause_). My poor Edward!

_Ted._ Did--did you know that I--that I was like this?

_Mrs. V. B._ No! no! no!

_Ted._ Nor I, it came on me like a thunderclap--my love for that little

girl has grown as imperceptibly as my age has grown--I’ve taken no note

of either till now--when I rub my eyes and find that I love her dearly,

and that I’m eight-and-thirty!

_Mrs. V. B._ But, surely you know--you must have heard----

_Ted._ Yes, yes, I’ve just heard--Fred Smailey’s a lucky fellow, and he

deserves his luck.

_Mrs. V. B._ Perhaps. I don’t know. I don’t like Fred Smailey.

_Ted._ (_amazed_). You don’t like Smailey?

_Mrs. V. B._ No, I don’t, and I’m afraid I show it. My dear old friend,

it would have made me very happy to have seen you married to Eve, but

he was first in the field, and she loves him. At first I wouldn’t hear

of it--but she fell ill--might have died--well I’m her mother, and I

love her, and I gave in. I know nothing against him.

_Ted._ Oh, Fred Smailey’s a good fellow, a thorough good fellow. You do

him an injustice, indeed you do; I never knew a man with such a sense

of gratitude--it’s perfectly astonishing. Remember how he gave me that

splendid colly, when I pulled him out of the ice, last February, and

how in return for my lending him money to pay his college debts, he got

his father to let me shoot over Rushout--no--no--if Fred Smailey has a

fault, he’s too good for this world.

_Mrs. V. B._ Is he?--at all events he’s too solemn.

_Ted._ Here’s the dad coming--he mustn’t see me like this. Good-by,

Mrs. Van Brugh. You won’t speak of this to any one, I know--not that

I’ve reason to be ashamed of it, but it’ll pain Eve and Fred too. I’ll

bear up, never fear, and Eve shall never know--after all, her happiness

is the great end, and, so that it’s brought about, what matter whether

Fred or I do it, so that it’s done. It’s Fred’s job, not mine--better

luck for him, worse luck for me. [_Exit._

_Mrs. V. B._ Poor fellow! There goes a heart of gold with a head of

cotton-wool! Oh, Eve, Eve, my dear, I’m very sad for you! Is it head or

heart that makes the best husband? Better that baby-hearted simpleton

than the sharpest Smailey that ever stepped! I’m very unjust. Heaven

knows that I, of all women in this world, should be slow to judge. But

my dislike to that man, to his family, to every thing that relates to

him, is intuitive. However, the mischief, if mischief there be, is

done; I’ll make the best of it.

_Enter DR. ATHELNEY, very hurriedly._

_Dr. A._ My dear Mrs. Van Brugh, I come without a moment’s loss of

time, to thank you in my late curate Twemlow’s name for your great

kindness in presenting him to the Crabthorpe living. He has a wife and

four children, and is nearly mad with joy and gratitude. I’ve brought

you his letter.

_Mrs. V. B._ I won’t read it, doctor. I can’t bear gratitude; it

makes my eyes red. Take it away. I am only too glad to have helped a

struggling and deserving man. Now, I’m very glad you’ve come, because I

want to consult you on a business matter of some importance.

_Dr. A._ My dear Mrs. Van Brugh, I have been the intellectual head of

this village for fifty-three years, and nobody ever yet paid me the

compliment of consulting me on a matter of business.

_Mrs. V. B._ Then I’ve no doubt I’m going to hit upon a neglected mine

of commercial sagacity!

_Dr. A._ It’s very possible. I was second wrangler of my year.

_Mrs. V. B._ I told you last night of Eve’s engagement. Well, old Mr.

Smailey has sent me a note to say that he will call on me to-morrow

week to talk over the settlement I propose to make on the occasion of

my darling’s marriage with his son. Now, doctor, look as wise as you

can, and tell me what I ought to do.

_Dr. A._ Well, in such a case I should be very worldly. I think, my

dear, I should prepare a nice little luncheon, with a bottle of that

Amontillado, and then, having got him quietly and cosily _tête-à-tête_,

I should ask him what _he_ proposes to do.

_Mrs. V. B._ Very good indeed, doctor. Upon my word, for a colonial

bishop-elect, that’s not bad. But, unfortunately, I’ve already

ascertained that he proposes to do nothing. All his money is tied up.

_Dr. A._ Oh, is it indeed? Bless me! Tied up, is it? And may I ask,

what do you understand by that expression?

_Mrs. V. B._ Well, in round terms, it’s his, but he mustn’t spend it.

Do you understand?

_Dr. A._ Oh, yes. When I was a boy my uncle gave me a guinea on those

terms.

_Mrs. V. B._ Now come, doctor dear, the young people look to me, and,

when one is looked to, one should be equal to the emergency. What would

you advise me to do?

_Dr. A._ _Your_ property is not, I suppose, tied up?

_Mrs. V. B._ No; it is quite unfettered, and consists principally of

long leaseholds and funded property, left me by my godfather, and a

small sum of money acquired by Captain Van Brugh on his first marriage.

_Dr. A._ His first marriage! Bless me, I never knew he had been married

before.

_Mrs. V. B._ Yes (_much agitated_), a most unhappy match. She--she left

him under discreditable circumstances--went to Australia--resumed her

maiden name, and, under that name, died in Melbourne.

_Dr. A._ And when did this unhappy lady die?

_Mrs. V. B._ (_still agitated_). Oh! years ago--It’s a terrible story.

I don’t like to think of it--I can’t bear to talk of it.

_Dr. A._ (_aside_). What a blundering old savage I am! If there is a

pitfall open, ten to one I tumble into it! (_Aloud._) I have always

understood that where marriage settlements of any consideration are

concerned, it is customary to employ a solicitor. I can’t quote my

authority, but, I feel sure that I am right.

_Mrs. V. B._ Old Mr. Smailey is an executor under Captain Van Brugh’s

will, and _his_ solicitor has always acted for me.

_Dr. A._ His solicitor! what, that queer little red-faced fellow who

accompanies him everywhere?

_Mrs. V. B._ No. Ha! ha! ha! I suppose Mr. Fitz Partington is a junior

partner, or head clerk, or something of the kind--at all events, his

name doesn’t appear in the firm.

_Dr. A._ Well, leave it to me, Mrs. Van Brugh, and I’ll write to my

brother, the Vice-Chancellor, who will tell us what to do. Now I’m off.

(_Noise without._) Why--what’s this? Bless me, Mrs. Van Brugh, what is

the cause of this commotion?

(_Noise heard without, as of people struggling with a woman, who

rudely expostulates with them._)

_Mrs. V. B._ Why, what in the world is the matter?

_Enter three or four SERVANT MEN with RUTH TREDGETT in custody. She

is wild-looking and dishevelled, as if she had been struggling

violently._

_Groom._ We’ve got her, ma’am. Don’t be afraid. (_To RUTH._) Stand

quiet, you jade, will yer? Woa, there! We’ve got her, sir, but we’ve

had a desperate hard job to do it.

_Dr. A._ What has been done?

_Groom._ She’s knocked two teeth clean out of my head, sir, and give

notice to quit to a dozen more.

_Dr. A._ We will hear your grievance presently. What has this woman

done that she is brought here?

_All._ Done, sir, why----

_But._ (_with dignity to the others_). If you please! (_To MRS. VAN

BRUGH_) Ma’am, Edwards found this here woman creepin’ out of my pantry,

ma’am, on all fours.

_Dr. A._ On what?

_But._ On her hands and knees, like a quadruped, sir.

_Dr. A._ Have you searched her?

_But._ (_shocked_). No, sir, I have _not_ searched her.

_Dr. A._ Well, well, I mean has she been searched?

_But._ (_with dignity_). I put my hand in her pocket, sir, and I looked

under her shawl.

_Dr. A._ Well, you didn’t search her, but you put your hand in her

pocket, and you looked under her shawl. What did you find there?

_But._ A decanter of sherry, sir. (_Producing it._)

_Dr. A._ (_to MRS. V. B._) Your sherry, Mrs. Van Brugh?

_But._ _Our_ sherry, Dr. Athelney.

_Dr. A._ Well, you hear what this man says; did you take this wine?

_Ruth._ Ay, I took it, sure enough.

_Dr. A._ Why did you take it?

_Ruth._ Why, to drink, of course. Why _should_ I take it?

_Dr. A._ You _shouldn’t_ take it.

_Ruth._ Don’t you never take wine?

_Dr. A._ Not other people’s wine--except, of course, with their

permission.

_Ruth._ Maybe you’ve got a cellar of your own.

_Dr. A._ Maybe I have.

_Ruth._ Well, maybe _I_ haven’t. That’s my answer.

_Dr. A._ Now, what are we to do with her?

_Mrs. V. B._ Leave her to me. Dr. Athelney, please remain here with me.

Every one else, except the woman, leave the room.

_But._ She’s a desperate character, ma’am; it took six of us, including

me, to bring her here.

_Mrs. V. B._ Never mind. Dr. Athelney and I will see her alone. Take

your hands from her and go.

_But._ Hadn’t we better keep within hearing? If help was wanted----

_Mrs. V. B._ No help will be wanted. I am in earnest. Go. Shut the

door. (_The SERVANTS reluctantly depart._)

_Ruth._ You’re a cool hand, missis; ain’t you afeard on me?

_Mrs. V. B._ Not at all. Why should I be afraid of you? I mean you no

harm.

_Ruth._ Who’s he?

_Mrs. V. B._ Dr. Athelney, a clergyman and a magistrate.

_Ruth._ Beak, is he? Well, let him make out the committal. Where’s it

to be? Sessions?

_Mrs. V. B._ We have no wish to prosecute you. We wish to help you to

arrive at a sense of right and wrong.

_Ruth._ Can’t it be done without a parson? I dunno much good o’

parsons. I’d rather it was done without a parson.

_Dr. A._ (_kindly_). Don’t think of me as a clergyman, if that calling

is distasteful to you. Perhaps some day we may succeed in overcoming

your prejudice. In the mean time, think of me only as a harmless old

gentleman, who is willing and able to help you to earn your living

respectably, if you desire to do so.

_Ruth._ Ah, I’ve come across the likes o’ you afore now. Three weeks

agone comes a parson, as it might be you. “I’ve come to help you,

poor fallen creetur,” says he; “I’ve come to tell you blessed truths,

poor miserable outcast,” says he. “Read that, wretched lost sheep,”

says he. “I’ll call again in a month and see how you feel,” says he.

A month! Heugh! When I was bad with fever the doctor come every day.

_He_ never come no more. There’s ladies come odd times. I call to mind

one--come in a carriage _she_ did. Same story--poor, miserable, lost

one--wretched abandoned fellow-creetur, and that. She called me a brand

from the burnin’, and wanted to stretch out a hand to save me, _she_

did. Well, she stretched it out, and I thought she meant it (for I was

green then), and, fool-like, I took it, and kissed it. She screeched as

though I’d bit her!

_Mrs. V. B._ Will you take _my_ hand?

_Ruth._ (_astonished_). Do you know what I am?

_Mrs. V. B._ Yes; I know well what you are. You are a woman who wants

help, and I a woman who will help you. (_Taking her hand_).

_Ruth._ (_much moved_). Thankee, missis! you’ve spoke fair to me. I’ve

had no one speak like that to me for many a long year. Thankee, missis.

(_Struggling with tears._) Don’t mind me. (_Throws her apron over her

face and sobs._) They _will_ come odd times!

_Mrs. V. B._ Will you tell me your name?

_Ruth._ Ruth Tredgett. I come from Cambridge.

_Dr. A._ Born there?

_Ruth._ I dunno as I was born there, but I come from there.

_Dr. A._ What are you?

_Ruth._ I s’pose I’m a thief. I s’pose I’m what gentlefolk thinks

is wus than a thief. God help me! I s’pose I’m as bad as I can be.

(_Weeping._)

_Mrs. V. B._ Are your parents alive?

_Ruth._ No, I never had no father--my mother was such as me. See here,

lady. Wot’s to become of a gal whose mother was such as me? Mother!

Why, I could swear afore I could walk!

_Dr. A._ But were you not brought up to any calling?

_Ruth._ Yes, sir, I were; I were brought up to be a thief. Every soul

as I knowed was a thief, and the best thief was the best thought on.

Maybe a kid not long born ought to have knowed better. I dunno, I

must ha’ been born bad, for it seemed right enough to me. Well, it

was _in_ prison and _out_ o’ prison--three months here and six months

there--till I was sixteen. I sometimes thinks as if they’d bin half as

ready to show me how to go right as they was to punish me for goin’

wrong, I might have took the right turnin’ and stuck to it afore this.

At sixteen I got seven year for shopliftin’, and was sent out to Port

Philip. I soon got a ticket and tried service and needlework, but no

one wouldn’t have me; and I got sick and tired of it all, and began

to think o’ putting a end to it, when I met a smooth-spoken chap--a

gentleman, if you please--as wanted to save me from the danger afore

me. Well, wot odds? He was a psalm-singing villain, and he soon left

me. No need to tell the rest--to such as you it can’t be told. I’m

’most as bad as I can be--as bad as I can be!

_Mrs. V. B._ I think not; I think not. What do you say, Doctor?

_Dr. A._ (_struggling with his tears_). Say, ma’am? I say that you,

Ruth Tredgett, have been a most discreditable person, and you ought to

be heartily ashamed of yourself, Ruth Tredgett; and as a clergyman of

the Church of England I feel bound to tell you that--that your life has

been--has been what God knows it couldn’t well have helped being under

the circumstances.

_Mrs. V. B._ Ruth Tredgett, I am very, very sorry for you. If you are

willing to leave this unhappy course of life I will provide you with

the means of earning your living honestly.

_Ruth._ Honestly! Why, lady, I’m too fur gone for that!

_Mrs. V. B._ I hope not. I have assisted many, very many such women as

yourself, and I have seldom found my efforts wasted.

_Ruth._ But you--a lady, high-born, high-bred, beautiful, rich,

good--(_In amazement._)

_Mrs. V. B._ Hush. (_Rises._) No matter what I am. (_With emotion._)

Who shall say what the very best of us might not have been but for the

accident of education and good example? Tell me, Ruth Tredgett, will

you accept my offer?

_Ruth._ (_kneels at her feet and looks up into her face_). I will!