The Mortal Gods and Other Plays Part 72

SCENE 1. _A hall in the castle of Suli. Heavy doors open left, half-way up. Large window with iron grating, rear. Couches, chairs, scattered.

Tables from which servants are removing the remnants of a feast. They are quarrelling, chaffing, singing, as the curtain risen._

_First Ser._ s.h.i.+fty, there!

_Second Ser._ What, can't a soldier eat?

_First Ser._ You a soldier, lickspoon?

_Second Ser._ I've drawn a sword, sir!

_First Ser._ Ay, and cut a cheese.

_Third Ser._ [_Lifting flask_] Here's to----

_Fourth Ser._ [_Seizing flask_] No man shall guzzle my master's wine before me. [_Drains vessel_]

_Third Ser._ [_Sadly, turning up empty flask_] Not after you, either.

_Fifth Ser._ Well, well, and two moons back we were saying grace over ditch-water!

_Sixth Ser._ Ay, we were good Christians then. A full stomach makes lean prayers. Now we've such a plenty we can spare the devil a fillip, and never a grace for it.

_First Ser._ [_Tugging at table_] Take a leg there! This is no gra.s.shopper. [_Others help him move table to wall, right_] Look about you! The maskers will be in here.

_Second Ser._ Here? They'll be everywhere to-night. Such a jig-making over the new prince!

_Second Ser._ Not a corner to drop into and sleep off a good supper with a clear conscience!

_Sixth Ser._ Sleep? What have we to do with sleep? We fight, we eat, we dance. That's my soldier!

_Second Ser._ We kill, we cut, we caper! [_Sings_]

The soldier rides on Fortune's wheel,

_All._ Round we go, Round we go!

_Second Ser._ Now up the head and now the heel,

_All._ Round we go, Round----

[_Enter seventh servant_]

_Seventh Ser._ Quiet, you devils! The master's coming.

_Second Ser._ What, can't a soldier sing? Haven't we fought like true men? When did we give quarter? When did we show mercy? And now can't we be happy? Can't we take breath?

_Seventh Ser._ s.h.!.+ and I'll tell you what I've seen. I've seen the daughter of Old Wisdom.

_Sixth Ser._ He get a daughter!

_Seventh Ser._ The maid of Kidmir. Ardia of the Stars they call her, but if the sun could s.h.i.+ne in the middle of a dark night she would be like that.

_First Ser._ Foh, the Lady Berenice will put out her candle.

_Seventh Ser._ The Lady Berenice is as like her as the back of my hand to Juno's cheek!

_First Ser._ A heathen comparison! There's a Christian blow for it!

[_They scuffle. Enter Oswald in talk with Bertrand. Servants finish their work quietly and go out_]

_Osw._ My heart is whole again, now you've escaped The claws of Kidmir.

_Ber._ Say the arms that closed Like G.o.d's around me!

_Osw._ Fox, and lion too.

That's Charilus. I knew him young,--when blood Tells nature's truth,--ere he had sucked Philosophy's pale milk and made his truce With prudence and long life. The heart then his He carries now----

_Ber._ Then, sir, you must have known The Maker's marvel,--youth that outstripped age And grayest saints in virtue.

_Osw._ Tut! No matter.

You're safe. And he is here ... within these walls.

_Ber._ A guest of faith who holds your honor bound High hostage for his life.

_Osw._ My honor? Trust me!

I'll care for that. No more I'll blush to lift My s.h.i.+eld i' the sun. The spot of thirty years Shall be wiped out.

_Ber._ With love, my father?

_Osw._ [_After a pause_] Ay, 'Tis love shall do it.

_Ber._ [_Lifting his father's hand to his lips_] You bind my heart to you.

_Osw._ Too soft, my warrior. Keep such woman's play For Berenice. She will thank you for it.

I'm rough and old, and need the soldier clap To start the singing blood. [_Clapping Bertrand_] A blow with good Red heart in 't!

_Ber._ Berenice?

_Osw._ Ah, that takes you!

She's here at last. Prince Frederick arrived Three days ago, and with him his fair daughter, Too dear of value to be left behind, The prey of quarrelling kings. You'll dance with her To-night.

_Ber._ You'll pardon me. I shall not dance.

_Osw._ Faugh, there's the monk again! Why, boy, we'll pray The better for a little tripping,--fight The better too. One dance with Berenice!

A beauty, sir, who makes me hate the years That lie 'tween youth and me. She was to wed A son of mine by vow above her cradle, And I have buried every son save you.

_Ber._ May I not keep one vow?

_Osw._ The pope long since Released you. Now----