SCENE. _A Garden. Entrance right and left. Left, a table and two
chairs._ (_The general effect should suggest a little lawn which
leads outward in several directions._)
(_The arrival of a taxicab is heard, off. Enter, left_,
HILDA _in summer hat and dress and with a light cloak on her
arm. She carries a folding-map and a small book._)
HILDA (_speaking off, left_). What's that? 'The taximeter points,'
you say,
'To fifteen shillings'? Well, didn't I pay
A pound? What? No, I _haven't_ 'made a slip.'
Surely five shillings was a handsome tip.
(_Sound of a motor-horn growing fainter._)
The creature's gone. These taxi-men!... But wait:
Suppose that isn't really Merlin's Gate,
Nor this the garden where a girl who loathes
Our Twentieth Century (all except its clothes)
May turn the Book of Time to any page
And move within some more romantic age?
The map will show. Yes, there's the gate, and there's
That wall, that table, these two empty chairs....
Everything's right. How wonderful, how splendid,
To know that here the roar of time has ended!
Now, let me see ... (_Consulting her map._)
If I should take that road
What century should I have for my abode?
'To Ancient Rome.' Lovely! (_She starts to go out, right. Then stops._)
It might be serious,
Though, if I chanced on Nero or Tiberius.
The Romans were rough diamonds.... This way here--
So the map says--would lead me to the year
Ten-sixty-six. I won't be such a fool
As go back where I stuck so long at school.
William the First was always dull. I know
He'd make me listen to him--standing so,
With Bayeux hands, knee crookèd, and neck bowed--
While he read all the Domesday Book aloud.
I shan't go there.... Now, that's a pretty view! (_Referring to the
map._)
'The Eighteenth Century: Boswell Avenue.'
I might try that. But no--that won't do either.
I'd have to wear a wig or tell them why there,
Love coffee-houses more than trees and birds,
And talk in such tremendously long words.
I know, I know! If I can find the way
I'll wander back into the sumptuous day
When, in his gardens near the warm lagoon,
Titian gave feasts under the stars and moon.
That would be heavenly! Those were noble times.
There was a grandeur even about the crimes
Of people like the Borgias ... and their dresses,
And the sweet way they wore their hair in tresses,
And--oh, and everything! What was Titian's date?
I mustn't err into a time too late;
But how to make quite sure? Suppose I took
My bearings by this little precious book--
Addington Symonds?... Oh, that I knew more!
Was it in fifteen-sixty or before?
(_Settling herself in one of the chairs she becomes absorbed in her
book. Enter, right_, GIOCONDA _carrying two or three modern novels_.)
GIOCONDA (_speaking off right_). I thank you, gondolier. You drowned
my nurse
With true dramatic finish. Take this purse.
So--I am in that Garden where time speeds
Backward or forward as our fancy needs.
How sick I am of cloaks and ambuscades,
Of poison, daggers, moonlight serenades,
Of those dull dances that are all _I_ trace--
Pavane, lavolte, forlana, cinquepace--
And the long pageant of our life at Venice!
Now, in the Twentieth Century there is tennis,
With cream and strawberries round a chestnut-tree,
And day-long idling in the June-blue sea,
And soda-fountains, too, and motor-cars,
And Henley Weeks and Russian Ballet 'stars.'
Oh, what a wealth of joy that century has!
To think that I myself may learn to jazz!
Truly, I judge it has no slightest flaw--
The glorious age of Bennett, Wells, and Shaw.
(_She sets her books on the table and curtsies to them._)
Gramercy, gentlemen,--inasmuch as you,
Here in your works, have taught me what to do,
How to play hockey, smoke, and bob my hair
In nineteen-twenty, when at last I'm there.
Which path would bring me there, I wonder? How
Choose of so many? If I'm near it now
I ought to hear the roaring of their trains,
Their motor-horns, their humming monoplanes....
(_She listens intently for a moment._)
The very bees are silent.... (_Seeing_ HILDA.)
Who is that?
Surely, unless the books have lied, her hat
Came from renowned 'Roulette's,' in Portman Square!
A Twentieth-Century girl! _She_ will know where
The Spaniards gather and the Black Friars dwell.
(_Kissing her hand, right._)
Farewell, Rialto! Bridge of Sighs, farewell!
(_She goes up to_ HILDA _and curtsies ceremoniously_.)
Dear Signorina.... Signorina.... Deep
In Bennett's fragrant works,----or can she sleep?
Could _The Five Towns_ have bored her? Let me try
Once more. Most noble Signorina----
HILDA (_starting up_). Why,
Who are you, lady? By your dress and ways
I think you must have come from Titian's days.
GIOCONDA. Indeed, I do. Old Titian! How he talks!
He did my portrait last July in chalks.
But grant me the great liberty, I pray,
Of asking what your name is----
HILDA. Hilda Gray.
GIOCONDA. How sweet and to the point!
HILDA. And yours?
GIOCONDA. Gioconda
Francesca Violante Giulia della Bionda.
HILDA. A poem in itself! The velvet verse
Of Tasso is not softer to rehearse.
What can have led you to forgo an age
When life was an illuminated page
From some superb romance?
GIOCONDA. And what, I wonder,
Can have torn you and your fair time asunder?
HILDA. I'll tell you, for I'm sure you'll sympathize.
I have a lover----
GIOCONDA. That is no surprise.