Hector, King of the Saxscobers, joins her exclaiming: “Dreaming again Isola. Truth, thou art A sorry bride for a great King to own, A King whom many virgins yearned to win, And whom thou shrinkest from with mute appeal In thy sad eyes that I should let thee be. Hast thou no sense of honour? Where the vows Which Holy Church commanded thee to make To love me, and obey and reverence me, Yes, me thy Lord and Master, thou my slave? Hast thou then no respect for pledges given, And priestly exhortation? How is it Thou shun’st me as thou dost, breaking the vows Thou mad’st to God to be my loving mate?”
Isola. “Hector, I made no vow, my lips were mute, I did not utter the accursed lie, Which would have fallen from them, had I vowed To love, and honour, and obey a man I could not love or honour. Nor would I Lose self respect by swearing to obey One who should be my equal and co-mate, But not my Lord and Master, I his slave. What care I for your Holy Church, or for The priestly exhortations of its Men? Why should these Mockers of the laws of God, Make laws for Women, whom they treat as naught? Tell me not Hector, that their words are God’s, God’s laws are not immoral as theirs are, For God is Nature, God is not that fiend Which priestly doctrine has set up on high And bidden us remember and adore. Remember what has never been, nor is? Adore a myth ladened with cruel crimes, The base conception of ignoble minds? Never! Isola worships one true God, The vast, inscrutable, unfathomed force, Which nothing but a perfect mind shall solve, Which nothing but Perfection shall attain. Hector, you call yourself a mighty King, A ruler wise and just, guided by laws Called by their framers Righteous. Go to, King! I tell you they are rotten to the core, Fruits of a tree planted by priests and men Without the aid of Woman’s guiding hand. Small wonder they are false and trample down The heads of Justice, Mercy and Great Truth. As well might Man attempt alone the task Of making Life without the Woman’s aid, As seek to frame those human laws, which bind Communities together and enforce Their will upon the disinherited. For all around, these outlaws of our Erth Wander and prowl in seething discontent. Men, women, children, all are victims of Unnatural laws, Nature’s base antichrists. Am I not a poor disinherited? Is not that lonely woman far away, That woman dwelling in fair Scota’s isle, Whom, ere you tied with me ignoble ties, You treated as a wife, who bore you seed, And loved you Hector as I love you not, Is she not too a Disinherited, One of the outlaws fashioned by your laws? Is not the son she bore you, Vergli called, Your rightful heir? Is not the child you force On me, by Nature illegitimate, Although the priests declare it blest by God? Why did you leave her to dishonour me? I did not seek to be your crownèd slave, I loved but one, my dear Escanior, They murdered him and tore me from his side To be your lawful, sacred prostitute! Out on the creed that dares to order thus, Out on it, and its superstitious cant, Out on the monstrous God it has set up And made the Sponsor of its ranting lies. No, Hector, such a creed will never stand, Or be professed by thinking, honest hearts. ’Twas only made to gull the ignorant, And sway the superstitious multitude. All round you cry the disinherited, Go lift the loads from off the poor oppressed, Strike down all civil and religious laws Which mock at Nature and withhold from Man Those rights which Nature gives to everyone.”
Hector. “Isola, prate no longer blasphemy, Cease thy revilings of the Orthodox, Merani was not wed by Holy Church, Who judges her unwedded, and her son, Vergli, my first born, illegitimate. I bow to Holy Church, the fount of God And its behests I cannot disobey. Vergli is not my heir, the child from thee Will be The Prince of Scota, if a son, And dost thou dare to question his true right, Thou his own mother and King Hector’s wife, Thou the crowned Queen of mighty Saxscober? Cease woman, nor defame God’s holy name, That God who fashioned Woman out of Man. Who are the Disinherited of Erth? Would’st have men equal, and to women give Those sacred rights which Holy Church declares Are man’s alone, given him by his God? Cease thy revolt against the Orthodox, Bow to revealed religion and become A lover of Conventionality. Isola, I command it, I, thy King, And, as thy husband, lord and master too.”
Isola. “No, Hector, I will never bow the knee To Humbug or to the black fiend Untruth. I say the Prince of Scota is Vergli And not the son that I, alas! may bear. Poor innocent! Born to commit a wrong. What am I, the crowned Queen of Saxscober? A creature, a dependent on your life, Who bears the empty title of a Queen Without the powers which should accompany it, And who at your demise is ousted by The very child who prattles at her knee, Who thus is early taught to scorn that part Of his own being, given him by her, Far more a parent than his father even, Whom he calls mother. No, no, Hector, King, Your slave I am, but most unwillingly, Give me my freedom, give to everyone The equal right to strive for and attain The opportunities, which Life affords To those who have the chance to grasp their hands. Unto the Orthodox I will not bow And only one religion can command The homage of Isola. That which Truth Proves unmistakably by Nature’s laws, To be revealed, I will obey, but Cant And rant, and superstition, out on them! Isola shuns them as she would a plague.”
[Rises and walks slowly away.
Hector, solus. “How now! Revolt is in the son and air! Vergli protesting, and Isola’s ire Roused and evolving disobedience. I must assert my sole prerogative, And call unto my aid most Holy Church, Which will not brook of disobedience. Vergli, the disinherited indeed! Isola too a disinherited! The poor, the disinherited of Erth! ’Tis Revolution, ’tis Revolt indeed, Which must be checked at once and instantly. Vergli, Isola shall not mock at me.”
[Retires pondering.
ACT FIRST.
