Merani (stretched on a couch in her bedroom, close to an open window. She is alone. Time: Evening): “So this is Death? How quietly it comes, Creeping like Evening’s shadows slowly on. I feel its presence drawing very nigh, Its cold breath hovering around my face, Like the chill wind which heralds in a storm. God of my heart! I do not fear its touch; It is from Thee it comes, so must be right, The Pow’r that rules all things, that put me here And takes me hence, will clasp me in its arms And make me still a part of endless Life, Part of the Mighty Universe divine, Part of that matter indestructible, Whose very death creates and recreates, Fashioning Life from out of all decay. Oh! Life, thou art a strange enigma here. Marred by the vices and the sins of Man, Distorted by his weird, fantastic creed Which shapes a most impossible, dread God And makes him parent of unnatural laws. This is the God who judges me outcast, A prostitute, a disinherited, Because I would not utter shameful vows, And call myself the slave of e’en a King. And yet by the true laws, of the true God, Nature, the one and only God I own, I am the wife of Hector, as he is The husband, whom I loved, and loving still Claim as my wedded co-mate, though he has Proclaimed me outcast and forced to his side That poor Isola, loved of Escanior, Fair Escanior to whom her heart was wed, Who died before her eyes unwillingly, For life was sweet to him when she was nigh, And bright to her so long as he was near. Ah! well, we suffer when we cast defiance At Nature, so must willing hands strike down The superstitions and the lies of Men, And fight to win fair Justice and bright Truth. Vergli, my son, dear Scota’s rightful prince, Have I not given thee these thoughts of mine? Yes, and have bidden thee spread them afar And labour to achieve Success for them. Vergli, it seems to me thou drawest nigh Often we think of those who think of us, What binds together sudden intercourse, Community of thought? Spirits blending? What hidden force of interchanging thought Brings this about? Oh! Science thou art dense, Thou hast a vast immensity to learn. Clear out the Charnel House of thy dull brain And flood it with that penetrating thought Which some have sneered at as Imagination. Where would all Truth have been but for its aid? Sometimes its shapes are vague and most obscure, As all conception is, e’en Life itself, Which from a speck becomes a thinking brain, Fruit of the tiny atom first conceived. Thus shall Thought be the ovule of a Life At present far beyond our comprehension. A life whose thought, in Evolution’s arms Shall far transcend the ovule of to-day, Bringing us knowledge that shall pierce the veil That veil which hides the secret of Creation.”
Enter an Attendant, exclaiming: “Lady Merani, your son is here, just come.”
Merani. “See dear Azalea to his needs, and then Bid him come to his mother’s side. The lights are growing dim and darkness steals Across the vision of these once bright eyes. Ah! ’tis his voice, ’tis Vergli’s, dearest boy, So without tarrying thou seekest me? Azalea you may leave us quite alone, It is my last ‘alone’ with my dear son.”
Vergli (kissing her): “Mother, I bore thy message to my sire. If I mistake not, it struck home a shaft Which made him wince although he held high head And bade me bow to the inevitable. But fear not mother, Truth and Right shall win, I’ll work for it unto my latest breath. I’ll plant the seed thou gav’st me. It may be I shall not reap the harvest it shall bring. But other hands can reap where I have sown And in the reaping thou shalt win the day.”
Merani. “It matters little who will reap the grain, So it is reaped. Our work is Evolution, In which all Nature, that is God, directs The ceaseless ever active spinning wheels Which weave the vast materials of space Into forms known to us, and all unknown. Here I, advancing into that unknown, Upon whose threshold I shall shortly stand, Counsel thee Vergli to work endlessly To find the Truth of all things by research And by developing the Thought of Man. But Thought will never soar to heights sublime, Those heights where dwell the knowledge that we seek, Save in the brain of recreated Man, By which I mean the Human perfected. It is not perfect to be full of lust, It is not perfect to have cruel hearts, It is not perfect to oppress the weak, Or to deny to all and everything The rights which Nature gives them as their own. The perfect man will not delight in war, Nor crave to make his food of bleeding flesh, The Vivisection Hell and Slaughter House, The pastime known as ‘Sport’ and other crimes, Which Superstition and imperfect Man Have hitherto upheld and countenanced, Will cease to be and our fair Erth become That which Perfection shall attain for Man, An Eden Garden, one in fact, not myth, A world where love and kindness shall hold sway. Thus shalt thou toil towards that far off goal. Vergli, my son, be just, be merciful, Treat every living thing that breathes and feels As kith and kin, nor seek to disinherit That living life of Life’s fair heritage, Nor filch from Life its dearest privilege, The right to live and to enjoy its own. Work to make Man divine in heart and form, Teach him that beauty is assured to all Who shall be born of well selected mates. Teach him that ’tis a crime to the unborn To breed unhealthy offspring or oppress Woman with childbirth’s oft-recurring strain. Quality, not Quantity, should be the aim, And every child should be the fruit of love, And not of lust, incontinence or greed, Which latter is ungoverned Passion’s child. Vergli, my son, these are thy Mother’s words, The mother who has lived and nurtured thee. Thou wilt be true, I feel it, for I know Thou art in truth born of my very bone. See Evening fades. Upon horizon’s face Soft lights are dying, slowly, as I die; Dying, but only to be born again As all is born anew in Nature’s arms. Behind the fading evening, darksome Night Looms like a ghost, and yet a fair-faced wraith. Around whom brilliant worlds irradiate And glorify the endless Universe. Behind dark Night I see the face of Dawn, Dawn, dimpled-cheeked and rosy like a child, Dawn that proclaims the birth of a new day, The offspring of Eternal Evolution. There is no end, Vergli, there is no end, Who dares to say the infinite can die? Science? Ah: Science, quit your A. B. C. And learn to read until you find the Truth. Vergli, dear Son, thy Mother sinks to sleep Good night, but some day it will be good morning. Kiss me, Merani’s eyes are courting sleep, The Sleep which Death awards to everyone. The Sleep which must awake, as certainly As cycle wheel goes ever turning round. Bury me, Vergli, where the wild flow’rs bloom. Kill not a single bud to deck my grave; No faded wreaths let any man lay there. Let Nature only whisper with soft voice When Merani rests in the lap of Erth. Hold my hand, Vergli; see, I have no fear. Oh! Death, where is thy terror or thy sting?”
[Dies.
Vergli (kneeling down beside his Mother’s couch): “No, Mother. Fear of Death is not for thee, Or for those others who, like thee, believe That Nature’s laws are part of the divine, And the divine, the great Inscrutable, And the Inscrutable, the only God, Which Human minds cannot distort or mar, Because they cannot formulate the thought Which shall conceive thee as thou art indeed. I bow before thee, vast creating force, And will not dare to mock thy Majesty By sculpturing thee in any kind of form. Yes, Mother, I will plough and sow the grain Which thou hast counselled me to cultivate. And it shall root, and grow, and multiply Until the world shall shine with golden corn, And Man shall reap and feast upon this grain, And wax beneath its potent nourishment, A Hercules in Thought and Perfect Love, Parents of Knowledge that we hunger for. Oh! future Thought! Oh! Perfect Love! true mates, Creators of that Truth we yearn to find. I see ye, yes I see ye, though afar, The time will come when we shall clasp your hands And revel in the Knowledge yet unknown.”
[He rises, closes his Mother’s eyes and leaves the room.
End of Act I.
