SCENE II.
The Palace of Dreaming, in the city of Infantlonia. King Hector and Sanctimonious, Ardrigh of Saxscober, are seated alone in the King’s Audience Chamber. It is the afternoon of a June day.
Sanctimonious (earnestly). “Sire, he is dangerous to Church and State, He seeks to fling defiance at us both; He would o’erturn our laws and ancient faith, And he possesses much the rabble’s love. This last concoction, called Humanity, Dares to exalt and glorify his name, And cast opprobrium on my saintly self, Because I represent the ancient creed— The creed I learnt upon my mother’s knee, From nurse and tutor, pastor and divine, Until at length I grew to think it true. Of course between us, Sire, and these four walls, I do not now believe it honestly, Nor more than you do, Sire, or anyone, Who thinks the matter out. Ne’erless ’tis best To steadfastly proclaim its sanctity, And force its worship on our youth and men, Especially our women folk, for these Are Church’s most devoted friends. Its foes Are more amongst the men, and yet methinks Queen Isola has opened Woman’s eyes To a degree disastrous, dangerous. Sire, I would pray your august Majesty To lay your strict commands upon the Queen That she abstain and instantly from this. Her precepts are the Evolutionists’. My chief of Peerers secretly reports, That Isola devotes her privy purse To bolster up these revolutionaries. I warn you, Sire, their principles will sap The privileges of the Church and State, And tumble them about our startled forms. Though Vergli is your son, he bastard is, But strenuously resists this law of ours. And now he has a powerful ally, Who will support him in the House of Bores, Isola’s brother, Prince of Bernia.”
King Hector (starting). “What Bernia dead? What Sanctimonious?”
Sanctimonious. “So says the Chief of Peerers, Sire, to-day, He bore me secret news. Fear not, ere long It will be quite officially confirmed. Shafto is now the Prince of Bernia, An evolutionist in heart and soul, Spit of Isola and of self-same mood, Indomitable and outspoken too.”
King Hector (smiling sadly). “And honest I suppose, but as you say This is not part of your concocted creed, Whose tenets we must own, though in our hearts We scorn them and the lie they bolster up. My part is one most difficult to play, I would be honest, yet may not be so. The influence of poor, dead Merani Surrounds my soul and whispers in my heart. Merani dead? If so, her spirit lives, For day and night I hear it whispering, It tells me to be fair and to be just, To clear her name of that unjust reproach, Which falsely termed religious laws ordain Shall be hurled at the Woman who declines To take the marriage vows ordained by them. And in my heart, Ardrigh, I must confess I look on Merani as my true wife, And Vergli as the rightful, royal heir. Isola did not love me. All her heart Was given to the noble Escanior. Yet Arco, Prince of Bernia, her stern sire, Slew him and forced her to become my Queen. But in my heart, and in your own you know That she is nothing but a prostitute, A slave, leased to me by unnatural laws Whom I dishonour, calling her my wife! And now I must coerce her to obey! You call on me to bid this toy of mine, This royalized and legalized machine, This Queen in name, but not in deed, this slave! To bend her neck and bow to bearing rein, That cruel goad and foe of Nature’s form, Nature, so fair when undeformed by man. ’Tis a hard part to play, Ardrigh, indeed. My humblest subject need not envy me, I’d rather far be honest yokel man Than a false Monarch of Saxscober land.”
Sanctimonious. “Sentiment, Sire; nothing but sentiment. Monarchs must not allow so soft a thing To take possession of their hearts. You reign. You are a King, and being such, must rule And shape your conduct by Saxscober’s laws.”
King Hector. “A sorry fate to have been born a King, Or rather, I should say, ‘the shade of one!’ My dullest Bores may vote, but I am mute, The gilded Puppet of a huge machine! Isola is my slave, but I am worse, I am the slave of an Automaton. But lo! I hear Isola’s voice outside, She comes to tell me of fierce Arco’s death, And of her brother Shafto’s accession, What——”
Sanctimonious (rising hurriedly). “Excuse the interruption, Sire, the Queen Loves not the presence of the Chief Ardrigh; Her tongue is cutting, though ’tis courteous, And I would fain escape its moral sting. With your permission, Sire, I will retire Through the aperture or the secret door, Which leads from here into the private room, Where you conduct your personal affairs, And correspondence intimate. But, Sire, Remember to admonish Isola, Bear in your mind that you are still The King, And sink all individuality; Be true to Church and State, uphold their laws, And force the Queen to humbly bow to them.”
[He retires hurriedly through the secret door.
Enter Isola, saying: “Hector, I thought old Sanctimonious Filled up the Audience Chamber’s narrow space; Is he not here? Whither has he vanished? Into that Heaven, where I am denied The right of entry, being Infidel? Or has he gone to Purgatory, where Repentant souls are burning off their sins? Or—dare I say it, Hector? To that Hell, Which God, the God of Sanctimonious, Has made to torture wicked infidels, And all such carrion, though of his Creation?”
Hector (sternly): “Isola, thou art over bold. Conform, And yield respect to our religious faith. What matters it if thou art infidel, And worship Nature’s God? Thou art my Queen, My Consort, my annointed property, My Co-mate on the throne of Saxscober. Now, understand that thou art this indeed, And must, as Queen, obey the laws of Church, As well as those of State. Defy me not. By those same laws I am thy master, girl, And will enforce submission. Yield it now. Goad me not to Coercion. I would fain Reign with thee peacefully and happily.”
Isola (passionately). “Hector, by an opponent law of Truth, I am your queen and slave, a consort queen, A gilded, dressed-up slave, not reigning, Sire, But just a sort of bauble, like a crown, A State-kept mother of your progeny, Each one of whom is given right to reign According to succession, while I am Declared to be a cast off ‘Dowager’! Is this right, Hector? No, ’tis infamy. A consort’s fate is pitiable indeed, Whatever be the sex of the Misshape, But of the two, the female one is most, Because Maternal rights are not her own. Mind you not, Hector, of that male consort, Of Queen Magenta, Prince of Citron called? He would not be her gilded bauble sire, But shared with her the right to reign as King, As I should share that right with you indeed, Were I your lawful Queen and wedded wife, And you my lawful mate, which I deny, Because by Nature’s law, poor Merani, Before you stole me from my Escanior, Was your true Queen, and Vergli your true heir, She having lived with you as wife, although She would not take those church-made marriage vows, Born of the creed preached by the great Saint Saul! Nor did you ask her to, because by law E’en had she wedded you by Saint Saul’s creed, A rotten civil law denies to her The right to take the title of the Queen. Because she was not a princess before She mated with you! Out on all such laws! Fruits of a creed the child of Selfishness, Mated with ill-omened Superstition. No, Hector; Isola will not conform, She treats with scorn such laws of Church and State, Nature’s true laws alone will she obey, She will not own a creed which is a lie, She will not practise laws which are unjust; Your slave she is, but most unwillingly. She casts defiance on unnatural law, Isola is an ‘Evolutionist’—”
Hector (aside). “And I, too, in a way; for although reared And dosed with selfish and ignoble tenets, Deep in my heart I feel Isola right, And that her dauntless spirit pleads for this. She is not Man’s opponent, but his friend, His true Co-mate, loving Companion, Who only asks of him Justice and Truth. Oh! sorry fate, that I must strive with her, And force submission where ’tis now withheld. Yet must I do so. ’Tis my Kingly fate To be a tyrant and to act the Sham.”
To Isola. “Isola, cease thy sentimental moans, Our age demands not feeling, but a Show; Give it a pageant, be it royal Pomp, Or a procession of dressed-up divines, And it will cheer them lustily and long. I am a ruling Puppet, thou my Queen, Our business is to play our sep’rate roles, I as the Public’s slave, and thou as mine. It is the Law and Custom of our land; We are bound by them. Them we must obey.”
(Pauses and then continues): “Understand this. Thou must obey our laws, Both civil and ecclesiastical. Thou must not be an Evolutionist, Thou must be what thou art, my Consort Queen. And play thy part upon the royal stage. Defy me not, Isola, bear in mind I am thy King, thy Master by the law.”
Isola (defiantly). “No need to tell me, for I know it well. But I defy you, Hector, and your law. A fig for all such false authority. I never sought to be your slave, nor asked To dangle at your side a bauble toy. Do as you will, but I will not conform, Nor bow to sham conventionality. Arco is dead, Shafto is Bernia’s prince, Let me return to Bernia’s hills and dales, Give me my freedom once again, I pray— If not, I’ll take it, Hector. Ponder well. Do as I ask; if not, I warn you, King. I will not act the part of decked out slave.”
[Retires.