Part 8
HELIODORE. I don’t mind personally a bit. I don’t happen to care for him; but I have asked thirty people to come in afterwards to meet him, and I do think it’s selfish.
LYCORIS. I could tell from his play he was selfish.
TIMARETA. He’s no heart, that’s what it is. He’s heartless. Just like Electra--heartless.
HELIODORE. But I do think Socrates might have stayed.
XENOCLES. Don’t you understand why he’s gone? He didn’t want to tell Euripides how bad he thought the play was!
NICYLLA. Do you mean he really thinks it bad?
XENOCLES. I’m convinced of it.
ANTAGORAS. It’s much worse than bad; it’s undermining.
DEMETRIUS. I don’t mind telling you now what I think--it’s a poor affair.
ALCANDER. Yes, I’m afraid it’s a failure.
HEGESO. Oh no, don’t say that, because I did so love it.
HELIODORE. I never liked Euripides.
NICYLLA. I told you he was finished. I’m never wrong. I knew it was all a mistake.
XENOCLES. He means well.
ANTAGORAS. No, he doesn’t; that’s just it.
LYCORIS. What I say is, that those kinds of plays do harm.
ANTAGORAS. The man’s an atheist.
LYCORIS. He’s a scoffer.
ANTAGORAS. But Socrates is far worse than he is.
NICYLLA. Oh, he’s such a bore.
HEGESO. I love his little snub nose.
HELIODORE. I shall never ask them again.
ALCANDER. Tiresome people.
LYCORIS. What I say is, people like Socrates and Euripides ought to be put in prison.
NICYLLA. Especially Socrates.
ANTAGORAS. So he will be, or else my name’s not Antagoras. He only deserves one thing, and that’s capital punishment.
HEGESO. Poor little Socrates! But I hope you’ll let Euripides off.
ANTAGORAS. He doesn’t count; he’s only a playwright.
CURTAIN.
XVII
JASON AND MEDEA
SCENE.--_A room in the house of_ JASON, _looking on to garden, at Corinth. Discovered:_ JASON _and_ GLAUCE.
JASON. I think you really had better go. She may be in any minute now.
GLAUCE. Very well; but you promise to tell her to-day?
JASON. I swear.
GLAUCE. It’s all very well, but you said that yesterday.
JASON. Yes, and I would have told her yesterday, only I was interrupted----
GLAUCE. I know; the only thing I say is, you must tell her to-day and do it nicely, because I shouldn’t like poor little Medea to be hurt.
JASON. No, of course not. Good-bye.
GLAUCE. Good-bye. Then to-morrow at eleven, at the Creon Institute.
JASON. Very well, at eleven.
GLAUCE. And then we might--no.
JASON. What?
GLAUCE. Nothing. I was only thinking we might have some food at the “Golden Fleece,” _downstairs_.
JASON. The whole of Corinth would see us.
GLAUCE. There is never a soul downstairs, and I don’t see now that it much matters.
JASON. It’s a pity to make oneself conspicuous; your father----
GLAUCE. You know best, but I should have thought----
JASON. That’s Medea coming through the garden.
GLAUCE. To-morrow, at eleven.
JASON. Yes--yes--to-morrow. (GLAUCE _goes out L._)
_Enter_ MEDEA _from the garden_
MEDEA. I can’t get any one for dinner to-morrow night. We want somebody amusing.
JASON (_wearily_). Would Orpheus do?
MEDEA. We’ve got too many heroes as it is. And then, if Orpheus comes, we shall be obliged to ask him to play.
JASON. What about Castor and Pollux?
MEDEA. Heroes again--and I think it’s a mistake to ask brothers together.
JASON. Heracles is staying at Corinth.
MEDEA. He would do beautifully.
JASON. I’m not sure he would do. He doesn’t get on with Admetus.
MEDEA. Why not? Admetus ought to be very grateful.
JASON. For bringing back his wife from the grave?
MEDEA. Yes, of course.
JASON. Of course. (JASON _looks pensive._)
MEDEA. Then we shall want another woman.
JASON. How would Ariadne do?
MEDEA. What are you thinking of? Theseus is coming.
JASON. I thought all that had entirely blown over.
MEDEA. We want an unmarried woman, if possible.
JASON. I don’t know any one.
MEDEA. Do you think we could get King Creon’s daughter by herself? She’s so pretty. I mean Glauce.
JASON (_blushing scarlet_). I don’t think--er--no--you see--we can’t very well.
MEDEA. Why not?
JASON. She’s a girl.
MEDEA. She goes everywhere. She doesn’t count as a girl.
JASON. Then we should have to ask King Creon.
MEDEA. No, Alcestis will bring her. That will do beautifully. I’ll send a message at once.
JASON. For the sake of the gods, do nothing of the kind.
MEDEA. But she’ll do beautifully.
JASON. You don’t understand. You see, King Creon has--he’s--well, I don’t quite know how to say it.
MEDEA. What _do_ you mean?
JASON. Well, it’s very awkward. The fact is, King Creon has approached me politically--about something----
MEDEA. What has that got to do with asking Glauce?
JASON. No, nothing, of course, except that we should have to ask him.
MEDEA. I’ve already told you that it’s unnecessary.
JASON (_firmly_). I shouldn’t dream of asking her without her father, and we can’t ask him.
MEDEA. Why not?
JASON. Oh, because he never does dine out.
MEDEA. I’m sure he would come here.
JASON. It’s impossible. You see, to tell you the truth--I’ve been meaning to tell you this for some time, only I’ve never had the opportunity--the King is rather severe about you.
MEDEA. Severe! How?
JASON. Well, you see, he’s old-fashioned, and he doesn’t consider our marriage as a marriage.
MEDEA. We were married in the temple of Aphrodite. What more does he want?
JASON. He doesn’t consider that a girl’s marriage is valid when it is made without the consent of her parents; and your poor dear father, you know, was most unreasonable.
MEDEA. Papa being silly has got nothing to do with it. When a man and a woman are married in a temple, with the proper rites, they are man and wife. Nothing can ever alter the fact.
JASON. Yes, but it’s not only that. Creon goes much farther than that. He made me certain revelations concerning some family business which, I must say, surprised me immensely.
MEDEA. What family business?
JASON. Well, it appears that soon after I started for Colchis my father entered into secret negotiations with King Creon, and signed an offensive and defensive alliance with him, the object of which was to safeguard themselves against Pelias. The word-alliance remained secret. But at a State banquet Creon laid great stress on the friendship between himself and the Æolidæ, and brought in the words “friendly understanding” several times. Now in the treaty, which was drawn up and published, to mask the alliance, there were several secret clauses, one of which concerned the Sardine Fisheries in the Isthmus of Corinth, and the other--well--er, my marriage.
MEDEA. Your marriage.
JASON. Yes, it is extraordinary, isn’t it? It appears that during my absence, and without my being consulted in any way whatsoever, I was formally married, by proxy, of course, to Creon’s daughter Glauce--who was at that time a mere child. It was further settled that as soon as she was grown up, the marriage would be announced and the King would publicly adopt me as his heir.
MEDEA. No wonder he was annoyed at your having married me.
JASON. Well, you see, he isn’t annoyed at that, because he says our marriage wasn’t valid.
MEDEA. Not in the eyes of the law, perhaps; but I am sure Aphrodite would not only be pained, but extremely angry if we cancelled vows which were made in her temple.
JASON. No, that’s just it. It appears he consulted all the oracles 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?