Chapter 2

[_Door is pushed ajar_. _Enter_ CUPID, _who approaches the fire with outstretched hands_.]

MAID (_indignantly_)

Methinks thou art not faint, however cold, But rather too courageous, and most bold; Surprisingly ill-mannered, sir, and rude, Without an invitation to intrude Into my very presence.

CUPID (_warming his hands_)

But, you see, Girls never mind a little chap like me. They’re always watching for me on the sly, And hoping I will call.

MAID (_haughtily_)

Indeed, not I! My heart has listened to a sweeter voice, A clarion call that gives command—not choice. And I have answered to that call, ‘I come’; To other voices shall my ears be dumb. To art alone I consecrate my life— Art is my spouse, and I his willing wife.

CUPID (_slowly_, _gazing in the grate_)

Art is a sultan, and you must divide His love with many another ill-fed bride. Now I know one who worships you alone.

MAID (_impatiently_)

I will not listen! for the dice is thrown And art has won me. On my brow some day Shall rest the laurel wreath—

CUPID (_sitting down and looking at_ MAID _critically_)

Just let me say I think sweet orange blossoms under lace Are better suited to your type of face.

MAID (_ignoring interruption_)

I yet shall stand before an audience That listens as one mind, absorbed, intense, And with my genius I shall rouse its cheers, Still it to silence, soften it to tears, Or wake its laughter. Oh, the play! the play! The play’s the thing! My boy, _the play_!!

CUPID (_suddenly clapping his hands_)

Oh, say! I know a splendid role for you to take, And one that always keeps the house awake— And calls for pretty dressing. Oh, it’s great!

MAID (_excitedly_)

Well, well, what is it? Wherefore make me wait?

CUPID (_tapping his brow_, _thoughtfully_)

How is it those lines run—oh, now I know; You make a stately entrance—measured—slow— To stirring music, then you kneel and say Something about—to honour and obey— For better and for worse—till death do part.

MAID (_angrily_)

Be still, you foolish boy; that is not _art_.

CUPID (_seriously_)

She needs great skill who takes the role of wife In God’s stupendous drama human life.

MAID (_suddenly becoming serious_)

So I once thought! Oh, once my very soul Was filled and thrilled with dreaming of that role. Life seemed so wonderful; it held for me No purpose, no ambition, but to be Loving and loved. My highest thought of fame Was some day bearing my dear lover’s name. Alone, I ofttimes uttered it aloud, Or wrote it down, half timid, and all proud To see myself lost utterly in him: As some small star might joy in growing dim When sinking in the sun; or as the dew, Forgetting the brief little life it knew In space, might on the ocean’s bosom fall And ask for nothing—only to give all.

CUPID (_aside_)

Now, _that’s_ the talk—it’s music to my ear After that stuff on ‘art’ and a ‘career.’ I hope she’ll keep it up.

MAIDEN (_continuing her reverie_)

Again my dream Shaped into changing pictures. I would seem To see myself in beautiful array Move down the aisle upon my wedding day; And then I saw the modest living-room With lighted lamp, and fragrant plants in bloom, And books and sewing scattered all about, And just we two alone.

CUPID (_in glee aside_)

There’s not a doubt I’ll land her yet!

MAIDEN

My dream kaleidoscope Changed still again, and framed love’s dearest hope— The trinity of home; and life was good And all its deepest meaning understood.

[_Sits lost in a dream_. _Behind scenes a voice sings a lullaby_, ‘_Beautiful Land of Nod_.’ CUPID _in ecstasy tiptoes about and clasps his hands in delight_.]

Another scene! a matron in her prime, I saw myself glide peacefully with time Into the quiet middle years, content With simple joys the dear home circle lent. My sons and daughters made my diadem; I saw my happy youth renewed in them. The pain of growing old lost all its sting, For Love stood near—in Winter, as in Spring.

[CUPID _tiptoes to door and makes a signal_. MAIDEN _starts up dramatically_.]

’Twas but a dream! I woke all suddenly. The world had changed! And now life means to me My art—the stage—excitement and the crowd— The glare of many foot-lights—and the loud Applause of men, as I cry in rage, ‘Give me the dagger!’ or creep down the stage In that sleep-walking scene. Oh, art like mine Will send the chills down every listener’s spine! And when I choose, salt tears shall freely flow As in the moonlight I cry, ‘Romeo! Romeo! Oh, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’ Ay, ’tis done My dream of home life.

CUPID

It is but begun.

MAIDEN

The heart but once can dream a dream so fair, And so henceforth love thoughts I do forswear; Since faith in love has crumbled to the dust, In fame alone, I put my hope and trust.

[CUPID _at the door beckons excitedly_. _Enter lover with outstretched arms_.]

CUPID

Here’s one who will explain yourself to you And make that old sweet dream of love come true. Fix up your foolish quarrel; time is brief— So waste no more of it in doubt or grief.

[_The lovers meet and embrace_.]

CUPID (_in doorway_)

Warm lip to lip, and heart to beating heart, The cast is made—My Lady has her part.

CURTAIN

THE REVOLT OF VASHTI (FROM THE DRAMA OF MIZPAH)

AHASUERAS

Is this the way to greet thy loving spouse, But now returned from scenes of blood and strife? I pray thee raise thy veil and let me gaze Upon that beauty which hath greater power To conquer me than all the arts of war!

VASHTI

My beauty! Ay, my _beauty_! I do hold, In thy regard, no more an honoured place Than yonder marble pillar, or the gold And jewelled wine-cup which thy lips caress. Thou wouldst degrade me in the people’s sight!

AHASUERAS

Degrade thee, Vashti? Rather do I seek To show my people who are gathered here How, as the consort of so fair a queen, I feel more pride than as the mighty king: For there be many rulers on the earth, But only _one_ such queen. Come, raise thy veil!

VASHTI

Ay! only _one_ such queen! A queen is one Who shares her husband’s greatness and his throne. I am no more than yonder dancing girl Who struts and smirks before a royal court! But I will loose my veil and loose my tongue! Now listen, sire—my master and my king; And let thy princes and the court give ear! ’Tis time all heard how Vashti feels her shame.

AHASUERAS

Shame is no word to couple with thy name! Shame and a spotless woman may not meet, Even in a sentence. Choose another word.

VASHTI

Ay, _shame_, my lord—there is no synonym That can give voice to my ignoble state. To be a thing for eyes to gaze upon, Yet held an outcast from thy heart and mind; To hear my beauty praised but not my worth; To come and go at Pleasure’s beck and call, While barred from Wisdom’s conclaves! Think ye _that_ A noble calling for a noble dame? Why, any concubine amongst thy train Could play my royal part as well as I— Were she as fair!

AHASUERAS

Queen Vashti, art thou _mad_? I would behead another did he dare To so besmirch thee with comparison.

VASHTI (_to the court_)

Gaze now your fill! Behold Queen Vashti’s eyes! How large they gleam beneath her inch of brow! How like a great white star, her splendid face Shines through the midnight forest of her hair! And see the crushed pomegranate of her mouth! Observe her arms, her throat, her gleaming breasts, Whereon the royal jewels rise and fall!— And note the crescent curving of her hips, And lovely limbs suggested ’neath her robes! Gaze, gaze, I say, for these have made her queen! She hath no mind, no heart, no dignity, Worth royal recognition and regard; But her fair body approbation meets And whets the sated appetite of kings! Now ye have seen what she was bid to show. The queen hath played her part and begs to go.

AHASUERAS

Ay, Vashti, go and never more return! Not only hast thou wronged thine own true lord, And mocked and shamed me in the people’s eyes, But thou hast wronged all princes and all men By thy pernicious and rebellious ways. Queens act and subjects imitate. So let Queen Vashti weigh her conduct and her words, Or be no more called ‘queen!’

VASHTI

I was a princess ere I was a queen, And worthy of a better fate than this! There lies the crown that made me queen in name! Here stands the woman—wife in name alone! Now, no more queen—nor wife—but woman still— Ay, and a woman strong enough to be Her own avenger.

THE CHOOSING OF ESTHER (FROM THE DRAMA OF MIZPAH)

AHASUERAS

Tell me thy name!

ESTHER

My name, great sire, is Esther.

AHASUERAS

So thou art Esther? Esther! ’tis a name Breathed into sound as softly as a sigh. A woman’s name should melt upon the lips Like Love’s first kisses, and thy countenance Is fit companion for so sweet a name!

ESTHER

Thou art most kind. I would my name and face Were mine own making and not accident. Then I might feel elated at thy praise, Where now I feel confusion.

AHASUERAS

Thou hast wit As well as beauty, Esther. Both are gems That do embellish woman in man’s sight. Yet they are gems of second magnitude! Dost _thou_ possess the one great perfect gem— The matchless jewel of the world called _love_?

ESTHER

Sire, in the heart of every woman dwells That wondrous perfect gem!

AHASUERAS

Then, Esther, speak! And tell me what is _love_! I fain would know Thy definition of that much-mouthed word, By woman most employed—least understood.

ESTHER

What can a humble Jewish maiden know That would instruct a warrior and a king? I have but dreamed of love as maidens will While thou hast known its fulness. All the world Loves Great Ahasueras!

AHASUERAS

All the world _Fears great_ Ahasueras! Kings, my child, Are rarely loved as anything but kings. Love, as I see it in the court and camp, Means seeking royal favour. I would know How love is fashioned in a maiden’s dreams.

ESTHER

Sire, love seeks nothing that kings can bestow. Love is the king of all kings here below; Love makes the monarch but a bashful boy, Love makes the peasant monarch in his joy; Love seeks not place, all places are the same, When lighted by the radiance of love’s flame. Who deems proud love could fawn to power and splendour Hath known not love, but some base-born pretender.

AHASUERAS

If this be love, I would know more of it. Speak on, fair Esther! What is love beside?

ESTHER

Love is in all things, all things are in love. Love is the earth, the sea, the skies above; Love is the bird, the blossom, and the wind; Love hath a million eyes, yet love is blind; Love is a tempest, awful in its might; Love is the silence of a moon-lit night; Love is the aim of every human soul; And he who hath not loved hath missed life’s goal!

AHASUERAS

But tell me of thyself, of thine own dreams! How wouldst thou love, and how be loved again?

ESTHER

Who most doth love thinks least of love’s return; She is content to feel the passion burn In her own bosom, and its sacred fire Consumes each selfish purpose and desire. ’Tis in the giving, love’s best rapture lies, Not in the counting of the things it buys.

AHASUERAS

Yet, is there not vast anguish and despair In love that finds no answering word or smile?

ESTHER

So radiant is love, it lends a glow To each dark sorrow and to every woe. To love completely is to part with pain, Nor is there mortal who can love in vain. Love is its own reward, it pays full measure, And in love’s sharpest grief lies subtlest pleasure.

AHASUERAS

Methinks, a mighty warrior, lord or king Must in thy fancy play the lover’s part; None else could wake such reverential thought.

ESTHER

When woman loves one born of lowly state, Her thought gives crown and sceptre to her mate; Yet be he king, or chief of some great clan, She loves him but as woman loves a man. Monarch or peasant, ’tis the same, I wis When once she gives him love’s surrendering kiss.

HONEYMOON SCENE (FROM THE DRAMA OF MIZPAH)

AHASUERAS

What were thy thoughts, sweet Esther? Something passed Across thy face, that for a moment veiled Thy soul from mine, and left me desolate. Thy thoughts were not of me?

ESTHER

Ay, _all_ of thee! I wondered, if in truth, thou wert content With me—thy choice. Was there no other one Of all who passed before thee at thy court Whose memory pursues thee with regret?

AHASUERAS

I do confess I much regret that day And wish I could relive it.

ESTHER

Oh! My lord!

AHASUERAS

Yea! I regret those hours I wasted on The poor procession that preceded thee. Hadst thou come first, then all the added wealth

Of one long day of loving thee were mine— A boundless fortune squandered. Though I live To three score years and ten, as I do hope, In wedded love beside thee, that one day Was filched from me and cannot be restored.

ESTHER

And then to think how frightened and abashed I hung outside thy gates from early morn, Not daring to go in and meet thine eyes, Till pitying twilight clothed me in her veil, And evening walked beside me to thy door.

AHASUERAS

So it was thou, fair thief, who stole that day, And made me poorer, by—how many hours?

ESTHER

Full eight, I think. They seemed a hundred then, And now time flies a hundred times too fast.

AHASUERAS

Then eight more kisses do I claim from thee, This very hour—first tithes of many due. I shall exact these payments as I will, And if they be not ready on demand, I’ll lock thee in the prison of my arms, Like this—and take them so—and so—and so!

ESTHER

But kings must think of other things than love And live for other aims than happiness. I would not drag thee from thy altitude Of mighty ruler and great conqueror To chain thee by my side.

AHASUERAS

Such slavery Would please me better than to conquer earth Without thee, Esther. I have stood on heights And heard the cheers of multitudes below; Have known the loneliness of being great. Now, let me live and love thee, like a man, Forgetting I am king— I am content.

ESTHER

Content is not the pathway to great deeds. As man, I hold thee higher than all kings; As king, thou must stand higher than all men In other eyes. Let no one say of me: ‘She spoiled his greatness by her littleness; She made a languorous lover of a king, And silenced war-cries on commanding lips— With honeyed kisses; made her woman’s arms Preferred to armour, and her couch to tents, Until the kingdom, with no guiding hand, Plunged down to ruin.’

AHASUERAS

Thou wouldst have me go— So soon thy heart hath wearied?

ESTHER

My heart is bursting with its love for thee! Canst thou not feel its fervour? But great men Need wiser guidance than a woman’s heart. My pride in thee is equal to my love, And I would have thee greater than thou art— Ay, greater than all other men on earth— Though forced long years to feed my hungry heart On food of memories and wine of tears, Wert thou but winning glory and renown.

AHASUERAS

Thou art most noble, Esther; thou art fit To be the consort of a king of kings. But I have chewed upon ambition’s husks And starved for love through all my manhood’s years; And now the mighty gods have seen it fit To spread love’s banquet and to name thee host, May I not feast my fill? O Esther, take The tempting nectar of those lips away And give me wine to rouse the brute in me, To make me thirst for blood instead of love! Wine! Wine! I say!

ESTHER

Ahasueras, wait! Methinks good music is wine turned to sound. Here comes thy minstrel with an offering Pressed from the ripened fruit of my fond heart. Mine own the words and mine the melody And may it linger longer in thine ear Than on thy lip would stay the taste of wine. Sing on!

MINSTREL

When from the field returning, Love is a warrior’s yearning, Love in his heart is burning, Love is his dream. Talk not to him of glory, Speak not of faces gory, Sing of love’s tender story, Make it thy theme. Sing of his lady’s tresses, Sing of the smile that blesses, Sing of the sweet caresses, And yet again Sing of fair children’s faces, Sing of the dear home graces, Sing till the vacant places, Ring with thy strain. Yet as the days go speeding, Shall he arise unheeding Love songs or words of pleading, Strong in his might! Helmet and armour wearing, Hies he to deeds of daring, Forth to the battle faring, Back to the fight. Sing now of ranks contending, Sing of loud voices blending, Sing of great warriors sending Death to their foes! Sing of war missiles humming, Strike into martial drumming, Sing of great victory coming, As forth he goes. Back to the battle faring, Back into deeds of daring, Back to the fight.

AHASUERAS

No less a lover but a greater man, A better warrior and a nobler king, I will be from this hour for thy dear sake.

THE COST

God finished woman in the twilight hour And said, ‘To-morrow thou shalt find thy place: Man’s complement, the mother of the race— With love the motive power— The one compelling power.’

All night she dreamed and wondered. With the light Her lover came—and then she understood The purpose of her being. Life was good And all the world seemed right— And nothing was, but right.

She had no wish for any wider sway: By all the questions of the world unvexed, Supremely loving and superbly sexed, She passed upon her way— Her feminine fair way.

But God neglected, when He fashioned man, To fuse the molten splendour of his mind With that sixth sense He gave to womankind. And so He marred His plan— Ay, marred His own great plan.

She asked so little, and so much she gave, That man grew selfish: and she soon became, To God’s great sorrow and the whole world’s shame, Man’s sweet and patient slave— His uncomplaining slave.

Yet in the nights (oh! nights so dark and long) She clasped her little children to her breast And wept. And in her anguish of unrest She thought upon her wrong; She knew how great her wrong.

And one sad hour, she said unto her heart, ‘Since thou art cause of all my bitter pain, I bid thee abdicate the throne: let brain Rule now, and do his part— His masterful, strong part.’

She wept no more. By new ambition stirred Her ways led out, to regions strange and vast. Men stood aside and watched, dismayed, aghast, And all the world demurred— Misjudged her, and demurred.

Still on and up, from sphere to widening sphere, Till thorny paths bloomed with the rose of fame. Who once demurred, now followed with acclaim: The hiss died in the cheer— The loud applauding cheer.

She stood triumphant in that radiant hour, Man’s mental equal, and competitor. But ah! the cost! from out the heart of her Had gone love’s motive power— Love’s all-compelling power.

THE VOICE

I dreamed a Voice, of one God-authorised, Cried loudly thro’ the world, ‘Disarm! Disarm!’ And there was consternation in the camps; And men who strutted under braid and lace Beat on their medalled breasts, and wailed, ‘Undone!’ The word was echoed from a thousand hills, And shop and mill, and factory and forge, Where throve the awful industries of death, Hushed into silence. Scrawled upon the doors, The passer read, ‘Peace bids her children starve.’ But foolish women clasped their little sons And wept for joy, not reasoning like men.

Again the Voice commanded: ‘Now go forth And build a world for Progress and for Peace. This work has waited since the earth was shaped; But men were fighting, and they could not toil. The needs of life outnumber needs of death. Leave death with God. Go forth, I say, and build.’

And then a sudden, comprehensive joy Shone in the eyes of men; and one who thought Only of conquests and of victories Woke from his gloomy reverie and cried, ‘Ay, come and build! I challenge all to try. And I will make a world more beautiful Than Eden was before the serpent came.’ And like a running flame on western wilds, Ambition spread from mind to listening mind, And lo! the looms were busy once again, And all the earth resounded with men’s toil.

Vast palaces of Science graced the world; Their banquet tables spread with feasts of truth For all who hungered. Music kissed the air, Once rent with boom of cannons. Statues gleamed From wooded ways, where ambushed armies hid In times of old. The sea and air were gay With shining sails that soared from land to land. A universal language of the world Made nations kin, and poverty was known

But as a word marked ‘obsolete,’ like war. The arts were kindled with celestial fire; New poets sang so Homer’s fame grew dim; And brush and chisel gave the wondering race Sublimer treasures than old Greece displayed. Men differed still; fierce argument arose, For men are human in this human sphere; But unarmed Arbitration stood between And Reason settled in a hundred hours What War disputed for a hundred years.

Oh, that a Voice, of one God-authorised Might cry to all mankind, Disarm! Disarm!

GOD’S ANSWER

Once in a time of trouble and of care I dreamed I talked with God about my pain; With sleepland courage, daring to complain Of what I deemed ungracious and unfair. ‘Lord, I have grovelled on my knees in prayer Hour after hour,’ I cried; ‘yet all in vain; No hand leads up to heights I would attain, No path is shown me out of my despair.’

Then answered God: ‘Three things I gave to thee— Clear brain, brave will, and strength of mind and heart, All implements divine, to shape the way. Why shift the burden of thy toil on Me? Till to the utmost he has done his part With all his might, let no man _dare_ to pray.’

THE EDICT OF THE SEX

Two thousand years had passed since Christ was born, When suddenly there rose a mighty host Of women, sweeping to a central goal As many rivers sweep on to the sea. They came from mountains, valleys, and from coasts, And from all lands, all nations, and all ranks, Speaking all languages, but thinking one. And that one language—Peace.