SHAKESPEARE:
[_Enters_, L., _with a mask in his hand, and stops on catching sight of
Miss Fitton_.] Ah!
MISS FITTON:
[_Looking at him over her shoulder._] Oh, the poet! Well, Master
Shakespeare, what think you of my dress?
SHAKESPEARE:
Yesterday, lady, you were lovely; to-day, bewitching.
MISS FITTON:
There is more of the man than the woman in me, I think: yet I would this
cloak were somewhat longer. [_She tries to draw it round her to cover
her legs; failing in this she stands up and swings it about her._]
There, I am at ease now. Does it set me off?
SHAKESPEARE:
As envious cloud that veils the beauty of Night’s Queen.
MISS FITTON:
[_Seating herself and drawing the cloak about her._] I don’t like
poetry: it’s not true—sincere. You poets are too much in love with
phrases to be honest.
SHAKESPEARE:
When the heart is full we unpack it in song, like the birds.
MISS FITTON:
But when the bird really feels—rage or fear, he shrieks or twitters and
forgets his song.
SHAKESPEARE:
He still sings his love.
MISS FITTON:
I’d not give a cross [_Snaps her fingers_] for love that keeps time.
What’s formal and composed’s a pleasure—not a passion. I want prose and
truth.
SHAKESPEARE:
Yet they say that men love truth—and women, honeyed flatteries!
MISS FITTON:
[_Scornfully._] They say! Men say that; but it is worse than false. No
sooner is a man in love than he lies, wheedles, pretends, shows off—for
all the world like the peacock in the garden yonder, that sidles round
with tail outspread, in stately sweepings. But when we women fall to
love, we are too honest to be vain—too fond for make-believe.
SHAKESPEARE:
Those are the signs of love in man, as in woman. But who made you wise,
so young?
MISS FITTON:
Mother Eve, I suppose. The greenest girl knows more about love than your
graybeard.
SHAKESPEARE:
True.
MISS FITTON:
[_Settling herself, and pointing to the seat._] You may liken me to
night if it please you. We dark women are out of favour now: red hair is
the Queen’s colour, and Beauty’s ensign: bleached locks, even, are
preferred to brown or black.
SHAKESPEARE:
[_Taking the chair, and leaning towards her._] I must have been born
red, then, to love your great dark eyes, and the coils and tresses of
your hair.
MISS FITTON:
[_Pouting._] Do you believe people must like their opposites in colour
and height and——
SHAKESPEARE:
Such a difference is only one strand in the tie; and in a true marriage
the mind, I think, is more than the body.
MISS FITTON:
Of course the mind and character have something to do with it—the sauce
to the sweet: but the body’s the sweet.
SHAKESPEARE:
When I am with you, I think so too. I cannot reason now, I can only
feel. I saw you yesterday for the first time, a few poor minutes; and
now you are with me again and time is fleeting. Oh, I want fifty eyes to
take in your beauties, fifty ears to catch the music of your voice,
fifty hands to touch you, fifty lives to show you how I love——
MISS FITTON:
[_Draws up._] Love! love is not so sudden-mad—But hush! [_She takes up a
mirror to hide her face; Shakespeare masks; a page crosses stage rapidly
from_ L. _to_ R.]
MISS FITTON:
[_Putting down the mirror._] And so you love me—madly—in an hour?
SHAKESPEARE:
[_Taking off the mask._] Ah, lady, Time is love’s plaything—now he
presses years into one look, one touch; and now a moment’s kiss swoons
out of count—will you not yield to love’s magic?
MISS FITTON:
I don’t think I love easily. But why do you love me?
SHAKESPEARE:
Your beauty, grace, courage, wit—a thousand reasons; but deeper than all
reason and higher is love’s throne.
MISS FITTON:
We have a saying in my country, “quick flame soon cold.”
SHAKESPEARE:
Ah, that’s not true in love; proverbs are never true; they are all made
by dullards for the dull, but tell me how shall I win you? Teach me.
Like a timid scholar I’ve forgotten all I knew. Will love win love?
MISS FITTON:
Love will keep us when won; I have no philtre for the winning.
SHAKESPEARE:
One thing you must believe: this love is all my life.
MISS FITTON:
I’ll believe it sooner than I confess I do; for I love to hear you say
it. A constant lover, you know, touches every woman’s heart.
SHAKESPEARE:
Then I shall win you, sweet!
MISS FITTON:
Perhaps: all women want to love and be loved. Men desire beauty, wealth,
power, honours; we want nothing but love, love only: love is our
religion. You see the doublet and hose have not changed my disposition.
But Lady Cynthia will be here soon—— [_Rises._]
SHAKESPEARE:
When am I to see you again and where? I only live for the hope of seeing
you, and now I’ve been with you and said nothing—nothing!
MISS FITTON:
Hist! [_Moves behind the spinet again: Shakespeare follows. Lady Jane
Wroth and Lady Rutland cross stage from_ L.C. _to_ L.]
LADY JANE WROTH:
Oh, Lord Herbert is wonderful. As he came from the Queen he met me at
the door of the antechamber: I stopped to let him pass: he drew me to
him and kissed me on the lips. I could not help it. Do you think he
means anything?
LADY RUTLAND:
Not he. Herbert! He means you are a girl and pretty. Take care, Jane;
broken hearts come from such kissings.
LADY JANE WROTH:
But why should he want to kiss me if he does not love me?
LADY RUTLAND:
Men love to kiss, dear, and we kiss because we love—that’s the
difference.
LADY JANE WROTH:
I wish I were a man, for I love the kiss, too.
LADY RUTLAND:
Hush, dear, hush! you must not say that: if you were overheard—[_Glances
round nervously: they go off_ L.]
MISS FITTON:
The silly women! [_To Shakespeare._] But why do you love so madly? ’Tis
not wise.
SHAKESPEARE:
Wisdom and love, sweet, are sworn enemies.
MISS FITTON:
[_Rising._] I have many faults: if you knew them all, you might not love
me.
SHAKESPEARE:
Faults! you have no faults!
MISS FITTON:
[_Gravely._] I’m too tall, and I look twenty-five though I’m only
seventeen. Then my nose is not quite straight—do you see? [_Holds up her
face._] Besides, I’m very proud and hot-tempered—vain! No: I’m not vain,
ever.
SHAKESPEARE:
Delightful wretch! [_Puts his hands on her shoulders._] Now girlish-gay
and now so witty-wise; but always adorable.
MISS FITTON:
[_Holding his hands away by the wrists._] I’m very proud, you know, and
want the truth always. I’d never forgive you if you deceived me.
SHAKESPEARE:
Who could deceive you? Give me your love and I’ll be true as hand to
heart. [_She puts her hand on his shoulder: he lays his hand on her
outstretched arm and gazes in her eyes._] Your beauty comes upon my soul
like music ravishing the sense. How I adore you. [_Kneels._] You make me
humble: I seem a thing of naught and you a Queen—divine—[_She stoops and
kisses his forehead; in a sort of exaltation he cries_:] Now life begins
anew for me; this hour is consecrate——
MISS FITTON:
[_Putting her finger to her lips and glancing at the canopy._] You must
go and so must I. Hush! Farewell. [_Goes off_, L.C. _Shakespeare looks
after her, takes a step as if to follow her, and then goes off
hurriedly_ L.]