VIOLET:
[_Curtseying._] I thank you humbly, my lord.
[_Exit Southampton and Lacy bowing low._]
SHAKESPEARE:
[_Smiling._] At last, Violet.
VIOLET:
[_Moving to him and giving her mouth._] Am I so late? Did I wrong to
come?
SHAKESPEARE:
No, no!
VIOLET:
There was such a crowd I did not dare to come at first, and yet I could
not stay away; I could not. I wanted to tell you how wonderful it all
was.
SHAKESPEARE:
I am glad it pleased you.
VIOLET:
“Pleased me!” What poor, cold words. The play was entrancing; but you
were the Merchant, were you not? And so sad. Why are you always sad now?
SHAKESPEARE:
I know not. As youth passes we see things as they are, and our high
dreams of what might be become impossible.
VIOLET:
Never impossible, or we could not dream them.
SHAKESPEARE:
I hoped so once; but now I doubt. How golden-fair you are!
VIOLET:
You are always kind; but it’s not kindness I want. I’d rather you were
unkind and jealous. But you are never jealous, never unkind.
SHAKESPEARE:
You’d rather I were jealous—unkind?
VIOLET:
Much rather. ’Twould prove you care!
SHAKESPEARE:
Why do you shiver?
VIOLET:
We women feel the winter before it comes, like the birds.
SHAKESPEARE:
Women! You sensitive child.
VIOLET:
Not a child when I think of you. I used to look at myself and imagine
that some day a man would kiss me and play with me and make a toy of me,
and I wondered whether I should like it; but I never dreamed that I
would ever want to touch a man. But now, I love to be near you; my King,
how good it is to be with you. But the winter’s coming. [_Shivers._]
SHAKESPEARE:
You must not think that, Violet, nor say it. It’s your love breeds those
fears.
VIOLET:
[_Pouting._] Why did you not put me in this play?
SHAKESPEARE:
I did: you know I did. You were Jessica, happy, loving Jessica, and I,
Lorenzo, ran away with you and talked of music and the stars by
moonlight in front of Portia’s house.
VIOLET:
How kind you are! What a pity you don’t love me! But then love is always
one-sided, they say. Ah, some day—— Who’s Portia?
SHAKESPEARE:
Portia?
VIOLET:
[_Rouses herself._] Yes, Portia. Who were you thinking of when you
described Portia? She’s one of your new friends, I suppose, one of the
great Court ladies. H’m! They’re no better than we are. Some of them
were at the play but now talking with Kempe, the clown. Ladies, indeed!
trulls would behave better.
SHAKESPEARE:
My gentle Violet, in a rage.
VIOLET:
Oh, they make me angry. Why can’t they be noble? I mean pure and sweet
and gentle, instead of laughing loud and using coarse words like those
women did to-day. Was Portia one of them?
SHAKESPEARE:
No, Violet, no. I meant Portia to be a great lady. Her carriage and
manner I took from someone I once saw at a distance—a passing glance:
but the wit and spirit I had no model for, none.
VIOLET:
You will love one of them, I know. Perhaps, by speaking of it, I put the
thought into your head, and bring the danger nearer; but I cannot help
it.
SHAKESPEARE:
Love is its torment.
VIOLET:
Oh, dear, dear! You will not leave me altogether, will you? Even if you
love her, you will let me see you sometimes. No one will ever love you
as I do. I only love myself because you like me, and when you leave me,
I’ll fall out of conceit with my face, and hate it. Hateful face, that
could not please my lord.
SHAKESPEARE:
[_Puts his hand on her shoulder._] Vain torment! In this frail hooped
breast love flutters and bruises herself like a bird in a cage.
VIOLET:
When you are near, the pain turns to joy.
SHAKESPEARE:
I know; I know, so well. I’m making you the heroine of the new play I
told you of—“Twelfth Night”; your name, too, shall be hers, Viola; but
now you must go: I hear them coming.
VIOLET:
Farewell, Farewell. If I could only be a dozen women to please you, so
that you might not think of Portia, hateful Portia! [_Exit Violet._]