[Amidst a scene of intense enthusiasm, Vergli declares the meeting at an end and leaves the hall with his supporters.
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.”