Isola. “Brave heart, so tender and so true, pure soul, If gratitude for love so infinite Will give you solace, then indeed ’tis yours, Isola’s heart is grateful to Vulnar.”
Enter the Prince of Bernia, exclaiming: “What, Vulnar here? Vulnar, news just to hand apprises me That Vergli is arrested, charged with Crime, The Crime, conspiring against Church and State. ’Twas in the House of Privilege he cast Defiance at their laws and pleaded hard For a reform of both, which he declared Must be both sweeping and far-reaching too. The overturning of his Labour Bill— Wherein Co-operation is enforced Upon employers who amass large hoards, By taking all the profits of men’s toil, Giving but wages in return, instead Of that which is the toiler’s rightful due, A share of Toil’s returns—aroused his ire. Because, I’m told when this same Bill was lost, Defeated by a large majority, The sneers and jeers, and cheers which hailed the fall Of his much-cherished infant, maddened him. He rose, and in impassioned accents, hurled The vials of his wrath on Church and State, So that men shouted ‘Treason!’ Wonder reigned, And all agape, demanded his arrest. This has been done, and Vergli is in gaol, A bad look-out for Evolutionism.”
Vulnar. “’Tis that, indeed, a cause has oft been lost By shutting up the brains that nurtured it, And closing lips that told it how to act. Vergli had power, his words were all inspired, They rose upon his lips like Heaven’s dew, And fell from them in show’rs of sparkling rain. He said they were Merani’s whisperings, A Woman’s voice, of which his was the echo; I doubt it not, believing, as I do That Woman, disinherited by laws As false as they are wrong and execrable, Has Mission, greater than to be a slave, That Mission to be Man’s true comforter By guiding him along the path of Truth, Not grovelling and fawning at his feet. Let her rise up and speak aloud that Truth, Let her assault base Superstition’s lie; ’Tis Superstition which has made her slave, The hideous lie of teachings orthodox. ’Tis they who have brought sorrow upon Man, Degrading Womanhood, in whose downfall Is swaddled up Humanity’s drear woes. [Sings.
“Behold! thy handiwork, Oh! man, The outcome of thy cursed laws, He who that wreck unmoved can scan, No friend of Woman is. Her cause Shivers and writhes within thy grasp, Thou death-importing, human asp; Thou who would’st seal her fate, I charge thee with her bitter woe, ’Tis thou who thus hast dragged her low, Hast doomed her to this state.
“Look at her in her form divine, A triumph of fair Nature’s art; Look at her in those clothes of thine Condemned to play the monkey’s part. Alas! from girlhood’s wasted days Base Superstition’s cruel ways Hold her in slavery! One aim in life consumes her soul, It is her one and only role, To grovel at thy knee.
“Where are her rights? She boasts of none, She is thy slave, by priests controlled; And as the Sculptor moulds his stone, So mouldest thou her soul. Look at that soul, caged and confined, Bound helpless where it long has pined, A dreary sight forlorn. With future empty, cramped and void, No hope to keep her spirit buoy’d, A toy which men adorn!
“Oh! Woman, wake. Behold the dawn Rising from out that bank of clouds. No longer grovel, cringe or fawn To Superstition, which enshrouds Thy liberty. Awake! Awake! I bid thee for thine own dear sake Cast off these cruel chains. Rise from thy many thousand years Of degradation. Wipe thy tears, Truth’s golden Dawn remains.”
Isola. “Vulnar, your invocation is not vain, Have I not half fulfilled it hitherto? See, I will act as you invoke, indeed. Vergli in prison! I will take his place, And carry on the War for Right and Truth. Shafto, go prove your title to be Prince, Speak out the truth unto your fellow Bores, Arouse the gilded chamber where it sleeps, And shake those dressed-up tyrants called divines. Make Sanctimonious tremble in his shoes, Shiver the awful Serpent they have raised And bid them practise Sacrilege no more. Brave Vulnar, you will stand by me, I know. Vergli in prison! Echoes of Merani! Your whisperings shall play upon my lips, I’ll shout them loudly into deafened ears, And make them ring throughout our wide wide Erth. Dear Erth, so beautiful, and yet how wronged By Superstition’s monster-featured creed.”
Shafto and Vulnar. “Agreed, agreed! Both of us are agreed!”
End of Act II.