SCENE III.
In the exercising ground of the Prison of Holdfast. Vulnar, Fortunatus and Scrutus are at exercise. The first two have halted and are engaged in conversation. It is the day before their trial.
Vulnar. “This I assume is the last chance I’ll have To speak to you, Isola. Without doubt The verdict will be Guilty, sentence Death. My lawyer tells me that the angry wave Of that most fickle Judge, Public Opinion, Is rabid for our instant execution! We are, in fact, condemned before being tried; A wave of anger has possessed the land, Fostered, encouraged by the powers that be. Ah! well, t’will soon be o’er. I fear not death, To die beside you is enough for me. Vulnar asks not a better fate, indeed, But to be faithful to the very end— To Love, to Justice and to mighty Truth, All three the seraphs of a perfect Life. Forgive me, Isola, for breathing love, But I have loved you faithfully and well. To feel you feel this and forgive Vulnar, Would make his last days peaceful and content. He could not help his love, it came on him Long long ago when he was yet a boy; He loved this love and hugged it very tight, And nurtured it, until it grew so strong He knew no mortal pow’r could sever it; The sapling had become, in fact, an oak— An oak impervious to ev’ry storm. Kind Isola, I know that you forgive And do not blame Vulnar for loving you.”
Isola. “Why do men love me thus? What is the spell Which makes them love with such unselfish love? Oh! Vulnar, could I blame you for such love? Rather, I thank you for your brave devotion. Kind Vulnar, loving friend of Escanior, ’Tis good, indeed, to have so true a friend; If it to you is joy to have loved me, Believe me, ’tis a joy to me, Vulnar. I would not sell your love for all the world; I would not barter it for Life itself. Such love in man is so uncommon, rare, To own a gem so rare is wealth, indeed. Yes, Death is nigh, that death men fear so much. Why do they fear it, if their God is good? Why fear to go to what is loving, kind? If God is as a father, they should laugh And clap with joy their hands at sight of Death. This they do not, but fear it fearfully. Why? Because they have made an untrue heav’n; A cruel hell, a hydra-headed God Whom they call Good and yet fear to approach, Whom they adore and yet seek to evade! Small wonder seeing they are human and This God is most inhuman. Oh! fair Truth Prevail, prevail, come quickly and prevail. Well, Vulnar, Life is fair and Life is Life— To us who know that Thought can never die And is the soul of Life, we fear not Death; Because we feel ’tis but an open door Where Life rejoins the Thought which cannot die, And starts afresh upon Life’s pilgrimage. I will not say farewell, we’ll meet again, You and my fair-haired, blue-eyed Escanior; We’ll meet, our forceful thought attracting us To be together. Yes, to be, to be.”
Warder (approaching): “Time’s up for exercise. Back to your cells. Silence. No further speaking is allowed.”
[All re-enter the prison.