SCENE II.
A large room on an upper floor in a housed, situate in a side street, leading off the populous thoroughfare and district of Stairway. The room is full of men and women, of poor but respectable class. They are listening to a somewhat eccentric looking man, who is addressing them; Scrutus by name.
Time: Early Dawn.
Scrutus (pleadingly). “Be honest, comrades, show that which men lack, The Courage of their own convictions. Hark! Truth’s silver voice is pleading for you now. ’Tis Vergli, Hector’s son, who has flung down The gauntlet of defiance against Wrong. Vergli, himself, a disinherited; ’Tis he who has proclaimed our sacred rights, The rights which human beings claim by right, Right, moral and divine, and by divine I mean, as you all know, by Nature’s law. What are these rights? They are to live and be, To have access to Opportunity, To eat a wholesome meal once in the day, To be afforded work and honest toil, To be assured the idle shall not loaf, To know the infirm shall have free succour, The aged live in comfortable homes, To be assured likewise that every sex Shall have a voice in governing our land, That Privilege shall never be usurped, And that in Merit only, rank shall find Its resting place, which is its rightful due. We have the Human Right likewise to rule Our lives by laws divine. Vergli has said, And Vergli speaks with reason, ‘that no law Should bind Humanity but Human law, Which law is Nature, therefore Perfection.’ A natural religion is our right, Religion founded by the laws of God, Not Superstition’s God, as made by priests, But God as Nature represents this force, Whose laws no man-made creed can controvert. Rest certain, Nature orders all things best, And when we seek to flout her, sorrow comes. Look round ye, comrades. Nature is oppressed, On every side the disinherited Roam speechless, mutely wond’ring whence their pain, Begging as Charity what is their right; Right filched from them by those who mock and scout As wicked and immoral, Nature’s laws.”
Verita (interposing, speaks): “Scrutus is right, he voices Vergli’s words, Words which are gold and silver in our ears. If we would win the common rights detailed We must combine, and practice what we preach. What do we seek to win? Just human rights, And to be governed by diviner laws Than now prevail. Our revolution is The evolution of both Thought and Mind, Which working upwards yearns to find the Truth. Wander in Stairway’s slums. Is Truth found there? No, nothing but a huge and monster lie, The offspring of a Superstitious creed, That creed which Sanctimonious bids us hug, And which is bolstered up by Church and State. What has it done for us, that boasted creed? Why made us the poor disinherited, The outcasts of a sham Society, In which Sham’s influence is paramount; And when we cry ‘Reform,’ retorts ‘Revolt,’ And dubs our movement ‘Social Revolution.’ Our noble Vergli calls it ‘Moral Force,’ Seeking a level where it can abide, And influence entire Society. And thus it is, dear comrades, without doubt, And therefore to attain it we must work, Using all forces which we can command. We seek not Anarchy, that’s not our creed, We ask for Human rights and Human laws, For true religion, and not Superstition.”
A Voice. “I hear a step. Surely it is Vergli’s.”
[Enter Vergli. All rise and greet him with looks of affection.
Vergli. “The top of the morning! to you, kind friends, Our burrow then is not evacuated?”
A Voice. “No, noble Vergli! but the ferrets prowl And sniff around its entrance, seeking prey, The secret ‘peerers’ of our sharp Ardrigh Are searching for that which they may devour. Vergli’s ‘free lances,’ who are just the nuts Which Sanctimonious loves to gobble up, Having first pulverised to dust their shells. But every dog enjoys its day. We will Open his grace’s eyes, and make them stare When Vergli is returned to Parliament, And his most graciousness’s abject slave Is given the ‘good-bye’ by Stairway’s votes.”
Vergli. “How goes it, Scrutus? How now, Verita, Are you and he making good headway still? Shall we succeed this time? How go the funds? Low, I’m afraid? What no? Why do you smile And shake your head and laugh so pleasantly?”
Verita. “Because the silver lining of our cloud Is shining brightly. Stairway is aroused, And Isola has filled our purse with gold. She sent it secretly ‘for Vergli’s cause,’ But we know well it is Isola’s gift. That poor Isola, pining, as the lark Pines in its gilded cage, with eyes intent Upon the Heav’n its cagèd spirit craves.”
Vergli. “Isola, ah! yes, she is Vergli’s friend, The heart of that poor captive beats with love For all the disinherited of Erth, Be they of human or of brute creation, Knowing that All Creation has its rights, The dumb brute and the voluble human. From both of which the sanctimonious laws, Which rule Society, have filched their dues. Isola is in heart and deed a Queen, Not that gay puppet which man dresses up In tawdry garments trimmed with tinsel daubs, Pulling the strings which make the puppet dance The weird, fantastic jig his fancy loves, But what a monarch should be, a kind friend, The people’s Maypole, round which Joy is rife And laughter is not drowned in Suff’ring’s tears. Yet our false laws deny her human rights, Class her with the poor idiot whose dulled brain, Diseased by causes physical, is mute, And cannot use the right, which nature gives To all the human family of this erth, No matter of which sex its items are, That right to think, and speak, and fashion laws Demanded by Necessity. Progress Demands new laws, and busy evolution Will not be bound by antiquated thought, Whose crude ideas no longer satisfy The ever moving forces of Mankind. Yet Isola, proud Sanctimonious says, Has not the right to vote or represent, Or be that, which she is, a human being! Is she not—leastwise Sanctimonious says,— An offcast of the man, piece of his bone, That piece, a rib, filched by God from his side, Which he can pet, mal-use, treat as a thing Dependent on him, not of much account, Unless it be to pander to his wants Physical or Political, a slave. Bone of his bone? Ha! Ha! a splintered bone? Or stay! Perhaps the long sought missing link, The bone of that lost tail! I have it now; Oh! happy thought! Oh! Sanctimonious, What will you pay me for this missing link? No wonder we have searched for it in vain, Seeing your Deity made use of it To fashion her, to whom no doubt He said, ‘Woman, thou art indeed the tail of Man.’[[3]] A vast idea, is it not, Verita? Are you not fascinated by the thought? Just ponder it. Bone of his bone. Sublime! The missing link between the ape and man.”
Verita (laughing). “Oh! thought divine! Who dares to question now The wondrous evolutionary power Which fashions thought, and from an Embryo Will turn it into a discerning God. Haste Vergli! Haste! Give Scientists the clue, Oh! Physiologists, examine quick The rib made woman. Surely a mistake! A slip of pen, a literary ‘mot.’ If only you can reconcile that tale And get the rib to waive its ancient claims, And find in Woman’s bones a trace of that Most noble Relic of primeval man, Then you and Sanctimonious can embrace And stitch up all your little differences, Hold a most amicable, state Pow Wow, Issue a new and Authorised edition Of a revised and up-to-date religion, Smoking together fragrant Pipes of Peace. But Vergli, apart from joking, good news! Ay excellent the news I have received. Isola has assured your cause success By sending us the sinews that we lacked. I have no fear. Vergli, you’ll be returned, The Sanctimonious nominee o’erturned, Next Parliament will hail you an M.P.”
Vergli. “Verita, Scrutus, kindly comrades, thanks, For your brave work on my behalf. I swear To labour in your service to the last, Whether I represent you as M.P. Or lead you forward to fair Freedom’s goal, As King in deed and not alone in name. Take Vergli’s gratitude. He ne’er forgets. His aim will be to reign within your hearts, And reap his people’s love, faithful and true. And now, good morning to you, see the sun Is clasping in its rays those shamefaced clouds Which Night is beckoning, as off she flies, To leave to Day an equal spell of rule As she has held. We must not linger here, A sadder scene demands my presence now, So let us leave our burrow solitary, And go our diff’rent ways as silently As we came here. We disinheriteds Will bear in mind our motto and watchwords, ‘Forward’ to fight for ‘Liberty and Truth.’”
[3]. The doctrine of the formation of woman out of a man’s rib is one degrading to her, and calculated to foster the belief held by many men, that the wife is the husband’s property. Since my esteemed ancestress “The Rib” was made an institution she has been treated as a chattel.—Author.