and the priestesses, and the Pythonesses, and they all say that our
marriage is not only illegal, but positively criminal, and that my
lawful wife, both in the eyes of man and of the gods, is Glauce.
MEDEA. And my children?
JASON. Well, about the children, opinion was slightly divided;
but they inclined to think that, if I adopted them, they would be
considered legitimate.
MEDEA. Legitimate! I should hope so. But what did you say to Creon?
I suppose you told him you were very sorry, but that it couldn’t be
helped. (_She laughs._) Poor Glauce! It’s a shame to make a girl so
ridiculous.
JASON. I don’t think you quite realise how seriously Creon regards
the matter.
MEDEA. I don’t care an obol what he thinks. What I want to be told is
how you told him what you think.
JASON. Of course, I said that I felt highly flattered.
MEDEA. But that you were married already.
JASON. No, it was no use saying that, because--as I’ve already said
twice--he does not think our marriage counts.
MEDEA. Then what did you say?
JASON. Oh, I said I would lay the matter before you, and trust to
your great good sense.
MEDEA. Do you mean to say that you did not give him to understand
that the whole thing was altogether mad, absurd, and utterly
preposterous?
JASON. How could I? After all, he is the King; and, moreover, he
is backed up by all the legal and hieratic authorities. I could do
nothing. I was quite helpless, quite defenceless. I simply had to
incline myself before his higher authority.
MEDEA. Oh, I see; you accepted, in fact.
[_She reflects a moment._
JASON. I didn’t exactly accept. But what else could I do?
MEDEA. No, of course, it’s quite simple. You said that our marriage
didn’t count; you would be delighted to marry Glauce.
JASON. I didn’t use the word “delighted.”
MEDEA. “Highly honoured,” perhaps?
JASON. Something like that.
MEDEA. So you are engaged to be married? (_Without any irony in her
voice_) Well, I congratulate you.
JASON. Not engaged. You see, the King----
MEDEA (_cheerfully_). I know. You mean you are married to Glauce
theoretically, and now you are going to make the marriage a reality.
JASON (_intensely relieved at there not being a scene_). How clearly
you put things!
MEDEA. I’m delighted for your sake. She’s a charming girl, and I am
sure she will make you very happy.
JASON. But, Medea, what about you? You quite understand that I am
ready to give up the whole thing unless you are quite sure you don’t
mind?
MEDEA. My dear Jason, why should I mind? My only wish is that you
should be happy.
JASON. I’m afraid that’s impossible. I need hardly say I am not in
the least in love with Glauce.
MEDEA. Of course not. But what about my children?
JASON. Ah, there’s the difficulty. The King says they will have to
remain with me. But you will be able to come and see them whenever
you like.
MEDEA. Oh, I see.
JASON. The King is very particular about children being brought up by
their father. He thinks women make them into mollycoddles.
MEDEA. Yes, of course. I suppose, since the marriage ceremony has
already been performed, you won’t have to go through it again.
JASON. It’s unnecessary; but I’m sorry to say the King wishes it.
MEDEA. Then I suppose it will be soon. I shall leave Corinth as soon
as my things can be packed.
JASON. The King wants the ceremony to be this week; but you mustn’t
inconvenience yourself in any way.
MEDEA (_smiling_). No, I won’t. Good-bye for the moment. I am going
out to buy Glauce a present.
[_She goes out._
JASON _sits down at a table and writes_: LOVELIEST AND DEAREST
GLAUCE--It is all over. I have told her at last. She has taken it too
wonderfully well. We must ask her to stay with us--later--etc.
CURTAIN.
XVIII
KING ALFRED AND THE
NEAT-HERD
SCENE.--_Interior of a_ NEAT-HERD’S _hut, near the river Parret,
in Somersetshire._
_Enter a_ NEAT-HERD, _followed by_ KING ALFRED, _who is miserably
clad and shivering from cold; he carries a bow and a few broken
arrows. A log fire is burning smokily in a corner of the hut._
THE NEAT-HERD (_scratching the back of his head_). Reckon t’ old
’ooman ’ull be baäck zoon.
KING ALFRED. We are very hungry.
THE NEAT-HERD. Reckon t’ old ’ooman ’ull be baäck zoon. She be a
baäking.
[_The_ KING _sits down by the fire and warms himself. Enter the_
NEAT-HERD’S WIFE _with much noise and bustle; she carries a batch
of newly-kneaded loaves on a tray, which she puts down in front of
the fire. The_ NEAT-HERD _says something to her in an undertone;
she mutters something in answer about “strange folk.” Then she
goes up to the_ KING.
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. If ye be a-staying here ye must make yournself
useful.
THE KING (_rising and bowing politely_). We should be delighted to do
anything in our power.
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE (_looking at the_ KING _with distrust, and
talking very quickly_). I’ze warrant ye be strange in these parts.
(_To her husband_) I reckon we’ve no time to see after strange folk.
We all be hungry, and it’s a mercy we’ve still got a morsel of bread
in the house to keep the children from ztark ztarving, and that’s
zo. But if he’ll look to t’ baätch whiles I zee to t’ cows, maybe
ee’ll get a morsel for his pains. (_To the_ KING) Now do ee be zure,
stranger, ye turn the baätch when they’re done a one side.
KING ALFRED (_who has only partially understood what she has said_).
We shall be delighted. (_He bows._)
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE (_to her husband_). I reckon he do be daäft.
THE NEAT-HERD. He’s no daäft; he be strange.
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. See ee turn the baätch.
THE NEAT-HERD. Oö! AR!
[_The_ NEAT-HERD’S WIFE _goes out and slams the door._
[_The_ KING _sits again by the fire and begins to mend his broken
arrows; after a pause:_
KING ALFRED. Do you care for verse?--poetry?
[_The_ NEAT-HERD _scratches the back of his head, and after
reflecting for some time:_
THE NEAT-HERD. Oö! AR!
KING ALFRED. Then we will repeat to you a few little things--mere
trifles--we composed in the marshes during our leisure hours. (_He
looks pensively upwards._)
There are clouds in the sky,
I’m afraid it will rain.
I cannot think why
There are clouds in the sky.
Had I wings, I would fly
To the deserts of Spain.
There are clouds in the sky,
I’m afraid it will rain.
THE KING. That is a triolet.
THE NEAT-HERD. Oö! AR!
THE KING. Here is another. It was written in dejection.
I’ve had nothing to eat
For nearly two days.
It’s beginning to sleet,
I’ve had nothing to eat;
Neither oatmeal nor wheat,
Nor millet nor maize.
I’ve had nothing to eat
For nearly two days.
That is also a triolet--perhaps not quite so successful. (_He looks
at the_ NEAT-HERD _inquiringly._)
THE NEAT-HERD. Oö! AR!
THE KING. We will now repeat to you a sonnet. It is adapted from
Boëthius. It is called “Suspiria.”
[_He passes his hand through his hair and looks
upward towards the right._
I used to sit upon an ivory chair,
And wear a jewelled crown upon my head;
Fine linen draped in folds my carven bed,
With myrrh I used to smooth and scent my hair.
I used to play upon a golden harp,
And every one agreed I played it well;
The servants bounded when I rang the bell;
I used to feed on immemorial carp.
But now I wander in a pathless fen,
Unkinged, forsook, discredited, discrowned;
I who was born to be the King of Men,
I who made armies tremble when I frowned,
I--in a neat-herd’s damp and draughty hut--
Perform the menial duties of a slut.
Do you think the last rhyme weak? (_The_ NEAT-HERD _does not
answer._) We have also written a ballade, but we cannot remember all
of it. It is addressed to Guthrum, King of the Danes. The _Envoi_,
however, runs like this:
Prince, you are having the time of your life,
From the Straits of Dover to Glaston Tor,
And writing it home to your Danish wife;--
But where are the bones and the hammer of Thor?
If we had a harp with us we would sing you the music, but we are
sorry to say we lost it in the marsh yesterday.
THE NEAT-HERD. Oö! AR!
_Enter the_ NEAT-HERD’S WIFE
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. Be the baätch ready?
KING ALFRED. Oh yes, of course. We shall be delighted.
[_He hurriedly lifts the tray with the loaves from the hearth and
places it on the table._
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. Drat th’ man! If they bain’t all burnt! Ye take
strange folk to house, and aäsk un to mind the baätch and turn’t,
and draät un if they doan’t forget to turn when they be burning. Ize
warrant ye be ready enough to eat un when they be done! Drat the man
if I haven’t half a mind to give un a beäting with th’ rolling-pin!
Not a morsel shall ee get; good-for-nothing, idle vagabond, wastrel,
ramscullion, thief, robber.
THE NEAT-HERD. Easy, old woman, ee be th’ _King_!
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. Well, and if that bain’t like a man, to let me
tongue run on not knowing nothing neither! (_Curtsying._) I’m zure
I beg your Majesty’s humble pardon, and I’m zure I knew nothing and
meänt no harm; and my man be that foolish not to tell a body that
the King’s self be here, so homelike and all, taking pity on us poor
folk. I’m zure as I meant no harm, and I do for to beg your Majesty’s
pardon, and that I do, an’ right humbly.
THE KING. Do not mention it. We assure you it is not of the
slightest consequence. It was exceedingly careless of us to burn
your loaves--your admirably kneaded loaves. And we most humbly and
sincerely apologise. We are, we are afraid, given to these fits,
these sudden and unwarrantable fits of absent-mindedness.
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. And me always a-wanting to see a real Dane,
too! Only yesterday I zaid t’ Mary, “Mary,” I do zay, “the Danes be
all over the country.” “Lord a-mercy,” she zay, “who be they?” “I
bain’t zet eyes on one on un yet,” zay I, “but folks do zay as they
be mighty pleasant folk,” zay I; and now to have the King of the
Danes himself in my hut.... Well, who’d a thought as zuch a thing
would coom to me an’ mine!
THE NEAT-HERD. Ye be mistaken, ye be. He bain’t the Danish King, he
be t’other, he that wur th’ King of England--bor! Alfred as was--
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. What?
THE NEAT-HERD. Th’ King o’ England as was till th’ Danes coom ower!
Alfred they called ’un!
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. He as be driven away, like?
THE NEAT-HERD. Oö! AR!
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE (_to the_ KING). Oh, you be he, be you? Then ye
ought to be ashamed of yoursel’, that ye ought, coming into strange
folk’s houses at this time o’ day, and begging for bread; and then
when they’ve pity on ye for your misery, and give ye the chance of
turning an honest penny by a piece of work as mony a man’d be glad
to get, and any child could ha’ done better, forgetting to turn th’
loaves and spoiling th’ whole baätch; an’ ye know well enow I can’t
baäke again this week--not that I mind th’ baätch; but I can’t have
ye here, nohow! Ye’d best be a-going, and that quick! Bor!
THE KING. But cannot you possibly let us remain here until to-morrow?
We are in need of shelter for the night.
THE NEAT-HERD. Don’t be too ’ard on him, old ’ooman.
THE NEAT-HERD’S WIFE. Be ye daäft? We’d ha’ the Danish soldiers, th’
archers, and th’ whole Danish army here in no time for a-sheltering
a traitor like, and a rubbul. I reckon we’re honest folk, and loyal
servants of the King, and we bain’t be going to shelter any gurt
rubbul here. I’ze brought up to be loyal; I’ze warrant I’m a loyal
servant till I do die. No rubbuls here. Out ye go, ye scurvy traitor,
and that quick, ye knave, or else I’ll bring my rolling-pin to ye!
Not that I grudge ye a morsel. There, ye may take one of them burnt
cakes with ye, that ye may, and enjoy it, too. And now out with ye,
avoor one o’ th’ neighbours caätch a sight on ye. Out, do ye ’ear me!
out!
THE KING (_sighing_). Very well, we are going. (_To himself_) Nothing
fails like failure, but perhaps a time will come. (_He goes out
peevishly, biting his nails._)
CURTAIN.
XIX
ROSAMUND AND ELEANOR
SCENE.--_A room in_ ROSAMUND’S _house, “The Labyrinth,”
Woodstock. Discovered:_ ROSAMUND _(playing a harp) and_ MARGERY.
_It is night._
MARGERY. There’s a lady wishes to see you, milady.
ROSAMUND. A lady! How can she have found her way through the
Labyrinth? You know that I’m not at home to any visitors. (_She
throws down her harp._)
MARGERY. She said she wished to see your ladyship very particular.
ROSAMUND. Who is she?
MARGERY. She didn’t give any name, but she said that it was something
about fortune-telling.
ROSAMUND. Oh! she’s the fortune-teller I heard about--the gipsy.
MARGERY. She’s not that sort, milady.
ROSAMUND. Do you mean she’s a lady?
MARGERY. She’s dressed poor--but----
ROSAMUND. What?
MARGERY. Well, milady, I thought she had come to beg, what with her
poor clothes; but when I said as you were not at home to visitors,
she ordered me about like, so rough, that I saw at once she was a
real lady; and then her shoes are beautiful, I’m sure, the best red
velvet.
ROSAMUND (_pensively_). I promised Henry not to see any one--but
then once can’t matter--and I do so want to have my fortune told.
(_Abruptly_) Show her in. (_Exit_ MARGERY.) After all, Henry never
need know. And I don’t see why I should never see a soul. I am
becoming quite rusty for want of human society. Besides, Henry
promised to let me have my fortune told.
_Enter_ MARGERY _and_ QUEEN ELEANOR. QUEEN
ELEANOR _is a commanding-looking woman,
shabbily dressed._ MARGERY _withdraws_
ROSAMUND (_rising shyly_). How do you do?
ELEANOR. Please sit down. I will sit down too. (_They both sit
down._) You have got a beautiful house.
ROSAMUND. Yes, isn’t it nice? Mavis built it.
ELEANOR. Mavis! Really? I’ve always considered him too extravagant
for me.
ROSAMUND. You ought to come in the daytime and see the garden. The
roses are beautiful this year. I beg your pardon, but I didn’t quite
catch your name.
ELEANOR. Never mind about my name. I’ve come to talk business. How
long have you been living here?
ROSAMUND. Let me see, we--I mean I--got in on Lady Day. But aren’t
you going to tell my fortune?
ELEANOR. So you do wish your fortune told?
ROSAMUND. Oh yes, please tell it me if you can.
ELEANOR. All in good time.
ROSAMUND. But before you do, you won’t be offended, I’m sure, if I
ask you how you found your way through the Labyrinth?
ELEANOR. Fortune-tellers know that kind of thing by instinct.
ROSAMUND (_greatly interested_). Really? Then you must tell me who is
going to be champion at the Winchester Tournament, and whether (_she
hesitates_)----
ELEANOR. What?
ROSAMUND--Oh! Nothing. How do you tell one’s fortune? By looking at
the hand or in a crystal?
ELEANOR. I will look in your hand first. Show it me. No; the left
hand first, please. (ROSAMUND _gives her her left hand_.) Yours is a
most interesting hand. The Mountain of the Moon is strongly developed.
ROSAMUND. Oh! How interesting! What does that mean?
ELEANOR. It means that you have a warm, affectionate nature.
ROSAMUND. That’s true.
ELEANOR. You had several illnesses when you were a child.
ROSAMUND. Yes; I had whooping-cough when I was four, measles when I
was seven, and scarlatina when I was nine.
ELEANOR. Exactly. You have more intuition than judgment; your first
instincts are true, but you are inclined to let them be overruled by
your second thoughts.
ROSAMUND. That’s perfectly true.
ELEANOR. You are very generous, but inclined to be extravagant in
dress. You are fond of luxury, devoted to flowers, and you like soft
stuffs. You are fond of music, but you have more taste than actual
skill. You are quick-tempered, but not resentful; you are gentle,
modest, and unassuming, but inclined to be obstinate, if you are
driven beyond a certain point.
ROSAMUND. It’s too wonderful!
ELEANOR. The Mountain of Jupiter is highly developed; Saturn fair,
and Mercury almost imperceptible. That means you are ambitious but
easy-going, rather lazy, and most careless about money matters.
ROSAMUND. It’s like second sight.
ELEANOR. You have had one great love affair in your life. (_She
pauses._)
ROSAMUND. Do go on.
ELEANOR. The man you love is tall; he has red hair, almost the colour
of a ruby, and a violent temper. He is impulsive, and often does
things on the spur of the moment which he regrets bitterly afterwards.
ROSAMUND. Yes, yes.
ELEANOR. He is a powerful man. He holds a position of great
importance in the State.
ROSAMUND. And will he love me for ever and ever?
ELEANOR. You have a double line of life, and it is marked with a star.
ROSAMUND. What does that mean?
ELEANOR. It means that the man you love is threatened with a great
disaster.
ROSAMUND. Oh! How dreadful! Is there no means by which it can be
averted?
ELEANOR. There is one way.
ROSAMUND. What is it? Tell me quickly.
ELEANOR (_solemnly_). By an act of willing self-sacrifice on your
part. That is to say, by your death--self-inflicted, of course. If
you give up your life you will save your lover’s.
ROSAMUND. Oh!
ELEANOR. And you will go down to posterity as a devoted woman--a
heroine.
ROSAMUND. Oh!
ELEANOR. But unless you perform this act of self-sacrifice at once,
it will be too late. The danger is imminent.
ROSAMUND. What kind of danger is it?
ELEANOR. On that point the stars are reticent.
ROSAMUND. But tell me more about the--about him.
ELEANOR. About whom?
ROSAMUND. The man with ruby hair. Is he married?
ELEANOR. Yes, and hence the trouble. He is married to a high-born,
noble, unselfish, generous, gifted, and beautiful woman--a paragon.
But I am sorry to say, he has for a brief moment proved faithless
to her in thought--it is only a temporary whim, of course; but
even a passing infidelity--even though it be only an infidelity in
thought--is at once visited by a just retribution. It is because of
the infidelity that he is now meditating, that the vengeance of the
stars pursues him, and that danger threatens.
ROSAMUND. It’s not true! His wife is horrible. She has driven him
away by her cold, callous conduct. She’s a scold. She bullies him.
She nags at him from morning till night. Besides which she’s very,
very ugly, and dresses like a scarecrow.
ELEANOR. How dare you talk like that to me! On your knees, wretched
minx!
ROSAMUND. I don’t believe you’re a fortune-teller at all. I don’t
believe you know anything about it.
ELEANOR. You are right. I am no fortune-teller. I am the Queen. My
name is Eleanor.
ROSAMUND. Oh dear! You’ve no business to come here. This is my house.
ELEANOR. Your house, indeed! However, I have not come here to waste
my time. I have come, as I said before, on business. Here is a
dagger, and here in this vial is an effective but entirely painless
poison. I give you two minutes to choose which way you will take.
[_She places the vial and the dagger on a small table._
ROSAMUND (_crying_). Oh! Go! You frighten me.
ELEANOR. Now, do you hear what I say? Two minutes.
ROSAMUND (_kneeling and sobbing_). I can’t. Oh, please spare me! I
will do anything; I will go away--anywhere--to a nunnery; but please
spare me.
ELEANOR (_with tragic grimness_). One minute and a half.
ROSAMUND. Oh, I’m so young! I’m sure I never meant any harm. Spare my
life. Have mercy!
ELEANOR. One minute.
ROSAMUND. Oh, you are cruel! I’m so young. Think what it is to be
young.
ELEANOR. The time has elapsed. Now, which is it to be?
ROSAMUND (_rising and drying her eyes_). After all, why should
I? (_She takes the dagger and the vial and throws them on to the
floor._) I won’t take either. So there! You can do your worst. (_She
calls_) Here, Margery! Rosalie! Topaz! Anselm! Richard! Thomas!
Quick! Help! Murder! (_Margery and a bevy of servants rush into the
room with torches and staves._) This fortune-teller has insulted me!
Turn her out of the house at once!
ELEANOR. How dare you! I’m the----
ROSAMUND. Quick! Quick! Turn her out. She’s tried to poison me! If
you don’t turn her out at once I’ll tell the King----
[_The servants turn out_ QUEEN ELEANOR, _who struggles violently._
ROSAMUND. Mind, Margery, if there should be any other visitors, I’m
not at home.
CURTAIN.
XX
ARIADNE IN NAXOS
SCENE.--_A room in Ariadne’s house at Naxos. Discovered_: ARIADNE
_and_ ŒNONE, _her attendant._
ARIADNE. When Theseus comes, show him in here directly. I am
expecting Dionysus in half an hour. If he comes sooner, which
he probably will do, don’t announce him, but show him into the
dining-room, and then come in here and make up the fire so that I may
know he’s there. You quite understand?
ŒNONE. Yes, perfectly.
ARIADNE. There is Theseus walking up the drive. Go and let him in
quickly.
[ŒNONE _goes out._
[ARIADNE _arranges herself by a spinning-wheel, near a fire where
myrtle-twigs are burning, in an attitude of simple, brave, and
unaffected dejection. She rubs her eyes with a silken scarf to
make them appear red._
_Enter_ THESEUS
ARIADNE (_smiling bravely_). It’s wonderful of you to be so punctual.
THESEUS. Yes, I----
ARIADNE. Sit down here. Or do you mind the fire?
THESEUS. No, I assure you.
ARIADNE. Are you quite sure you don’t mind the fire?
THESEUS. I like it, really.
ARIADNE. Perhaps you would like a screen?
THESEUS. No, I promise you.
[ARIADNE _rings a small silver hand-bell._
No, please don’t ring.
_Enter_ ŒNONE
ARIADNE. You may just as well have the screen. It’s there. Œnone,
will you please bring a screen for the Duke? The fire’s so hot.
[ŒNONE _goes out._
ARIADNE. Would you like a little wine?
THESEUS. No, thank you, really; I never drink wine in the morning.
ARIADNE. There’s some in the next room, if you would like to have
some.
_Enter_ ŒNONE, _bringing a screen, which she puts in
front of_ THESEUS
THESEUS. Oh, thank you so much!
[ŒNONE _goes out._
ARIADNE. Is that right for you?
THESEUS. That’s perfect! (_With nervous decision_) I’ve come to tell
you that I’m so sorry I was rude yesterday, and that of course I
didn’t mean----
ARIADNE. When you get to Athens I want you to do something for me.
Do you think you will have time? Do you think you could possibly
remember it? It would be too heroic of you if you would.
THESEUS. Of course I would; but----
ARIADNE. It’s the most tiresome commission ... I want you to send me
two pounds of Hymettus honey.
THESEUS. But I really wasn’t thinking of----
ARIADNE. Will you have it sent by the next messenger, care of the
King, to Crete, and then I shan’t have to pay the duty?
THESEUS. But really, Ariadne----
ARIADNE. And you won’t forget to give your father a hundred messages
from me, will you? I hope they’ve packed the Minotaur’s head
properly. It would be a terrible tragedy if the horns were broken.
THESEUS. I haven’t had anything packed yet. I really----
ARIADNE. Œnone will help to pack for you. She’s a wonderful packer.
(_She rings the bell._) She packs like an angel.
THESEUS. But my slave can do it; besides, I really want----
_Enter_ ŒNONE
ARIADNE. Oh, Œnone, I want you to go round to the Duke’s house
later--when the doctor comes--and help to pack the Duke’s things; and
at the same time you might see that the slaves pack the Minotaur’s
head properly.
ŒNONE. Yes.
[_She goes out._
THESEUS. Ariadne, I must really tell you.
ARIADNE. Let me think: you will get to Athens the day after
to-morrow. You won’t forget to let me hear what kind of a crossing
you have. And you must take warm enough things with you. It’s always
quite bitter on board that ship. But of course you’re a good sailor,
aren’t you?
THESEUS. I don’t mind a long voyage, but sometimes just crossing the
isthmus upsets me.
ARIADNE. I have got some wonderful stuff Æsculapius gave me. It’s
quite harmless. You take one dose two hours before starting and one
dose when you get on board; then you lie down; but you must eat
nothing. It’s wonderful. It’s called _Asphodol_. I like the name so
much, don’t you? You had better have the Minotaur registered straight
through to the Piræus. Then you won’t have any bother at the other
ports with the Customs. If you do have any tiresome bother, you can
use my father’s name; I will give you the passport he had made out
for us. I have scratched my name out, but that will not matter. I
have always found them very civil in Greece. They let me bring in
bushels of silk from Tyre. You must give my love to Hippolyta, if you
see her. She’s not been well lately.
THESEUS. Really?