University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Port of Ancona.
Enter Mandrake and Joan.
Mandr.

Am I a man of gingerbread that you should
mould me to your liking? To have my
way, in spite of your tongue and reason's
teeth, tastes better than Hungary wine;
and my heart beats in a honey-pot now I reject you
and all sober sense: so tell my master, the doctor, he
must seek another zany for his booth, a new wise merry
Andrew. My jests are cracked, my coxcomb fallen,
my bauble confiscated, my cap decapitated. Toll the
bell; for oh! for oh! Jack Pudding is no more!

Joan.

Wilt thou away from me then, sweet Mandrake?
Wilt thou not marry me?

Mandr.

Child, my studies must first be ended.
Thou knowest I hunger after wisdom, as the red sea
after ghosts: therefore will I travel awhile.

Joan.

Whither, dainty Homunculus?

Mandr.

Whither should a student in the black arts,
a journeyman magician, a Rosicrucian? Where is our
country? You heard the herald this morning thrice
invite all christian folk to follow the brave knight, Sir
Wolfram, to the shores of Egypt, and there help to
free from bondage his noble fellow in arms, Duke
Melveric, whom, on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre,
wild pagans captured. There, Joan, in that
Sphynx land found Raimund Lully those splinters of
the philosopher's stone with which he made English
Edward's gold. There dwell hoary magicians, who
have given up their trade and live sociably as crocodiles
on the banks of the Nile. There can one chat
with mummies in a pyramid, and breakfast on basilisk's
eggs. Thither then, Homunculus Mandrake, son of
the great Paracelsus; languish no more in the ignorance
of these climes, but aboard with alembic and
crucible, and weigh anchor for Egypt.

Enter Isbrand.
Isbr.

Good morrow, brother Vanity! How? soul
of a pickle-herring, body of a spagirical toss-pot, doublet
of motley, and mantle of pilgrim, how art thou
transmuted! Wilt thou desert our brotherhood, fool

sublimate? Shall the motley chapter no longer boast
thee? Wilt thou forswear the order of the bell, and
break thy vows to Momus? Have mercy on Wisdom
and relent.

Mandr.

Respect the grave and sober, I pray thee.
To-morrow I know thee not. In truth, I mark that
our noble faculty is in its last leaf. The dry rot of
prudence hath eaten the ship of fools to dust; she is
no more sea worthy. The world will see its ears in a
glass no longer; So we are laid aside and shall soon
be forgotten; for why should the feast of asses come
but once a year, when all the days are foaled of one
mother? O world, world! The gods and fairies left
thee, for thou wert too wise; and now, thou Socratic
star, thy demon, the great Pan, Folly, is parting from
thee. The oracles still talked in their sleep, shall our
grand-children say, till Master Merriman's kingdom
was broken up: now is every man his own fool, and
the world's sign is taken down.

(He sings.)

Isbr.

Farewell, thou great-eared mind: I mark, by

thy talk, that thou commencest philosopher, and then
thou art only a fellow-servant out of livery. But lo!
here come the uninitiated—

(Enter Thorwald, Amala, Wolfram, Knights and Ladies.)
Thorw.
The turning tide; the sea's wide leafless wind,
Wherein no birds inhabit and few traffic,
Making his cave within your sunny sails;
The eager waves, whose golden, silent kisses
Seal an alliance with your bubbling oars;
And our still-working wishes, that impress
Their meaning on the conscience of the world,
And prompt the unready Future,—all invite you
Unto your voyage. Prosperous be the issue,
As is the promise, and the purpose good!
Are all the rest aboard?

Wolfr.
All. 'Tis a band
Of knights, whose bosoms pant with one desire,
And live but in the hope to free their prince:
All hearts beat merrily, all arms are ready.

Mandr.

All, sir Knight; even the very pigs and
capons, and poor dear great Mandrake must be shipped
too.

Wolfr.
Who is this saucy fellow, that prates between?

Isbr.

One of the many you have made. Yesterday

he was a fellow of my colour and served a quacksalver,
but now he lusts after the mummy country, whither
you are bound. 'Tis a servant of the rosy cross, a correspondent
of the stars; the dead are his boon companions,
and the secrets of the moon his knowledge.
But had I been cook to a chameleon, I could not
sweeten the air to his praise enough. Suffice it, of
his wisdom Solomon knew less than a bee of fossil
flowers, or the ambrosian demigods of table beer. We
fools send him as our ambassador to Africa; take him
with you, or be yourself our consul.

Wolfr.
Aboard then in all speed; and sink us not with thy understanding.

Mandr.
I thank thee, Knight. Twice shalt thou live for this, if I bottle eternity.

[Exit, with Joan.
Thorw.
These letters yet, full of most weighty secrets:
Wherein, of what I dare but whisper to thee,
Since the dissemblers listen to our speech;
Of his two sons, whose love and dread ambition,
Crossing like deadly swords, teach us affright;
And of the uncertain people, who incline
Daily more to the present influence,
Forgetting all that their sense apprehends not;
I have at large discoursed unto the duke:
And may you find his spirit strong to bear
The bending load of such untoward tidings,
As must press hard upon him.

Amala.
And forget not
Our duke, with gentle greetings, to remind
Of those who have no sword to raise for him,
But whose unarmed love is not less true,
Than theirs who seek him helmed. Farewell, sir knight;
They say you serve a lady in those lands,
So we dare offer you no token else
But our good wishes.

Wolfr.
Thanks, and farewell to all;
And so I take my leave.

Amala.
We to our homes;
You to the homeless waves; unequal parting.

Wolfr.
The earth may open, and the sea o'erwhelm;
Many the ways, the little home is one;
Thither the courser leads, thither the helm,
And at one gate we meet when all is done.

[Exeunt all but Wolfram and Isbrand.
Isbr.

Stay: you have not my blessing yet. With
what jest shall I curse you in earnest? Know you this
garb, and him who wears it, and wherefore it is worn?
A father slain and plundered; a sister's love first worn
in the bosom, then trampled in the dust: our fraternal
bond, shall it so end that thou savest him whom we
should help to damn? O do it, and I shall learn to
laugh the dead out of their coffins!

Wolfr.
Hence with your dark demands: let's shape our lives
After the merciful lesson of the sun,
That gilds our purpose. See the dallying waves
Caress invitingly into their bosom
My fleet ship's keel, that at her anchor bounds
As doth the greyhound at her leader's hand,
Following her eye beams after the light roe.

Isbr.

Away then, away! Thus perish our good
Revenge! Unfurl your sails: let all the honest finny
folk of ocean, and those fair witty spinsters, the mermaids,
follow your luckless boats with mockery: sea
serpents and sea-dogs and venomous krakens have
mercy on your mercy, and drag you down to the salt
water element of pity! What, O! what spirit of our
ancestral enemies would dare to whisper through our
father's bones the tale of thy apostacy? Deliver him
from the Saracens' irons, or the coil of the desert snake,
who robbed our sire's grey hairs of a kingdom, his
heart of its best loved daughter, and trod him down a
despairing beggar to the crowned corpses of our progenitors?
Save him, who slew our hopes; who cozened
us of our share of this sepulchral planet, whereon
our statues should have stood sceptred? Revenge,
Revenge lend me your torch, that I may by its bloody
fire see the furrows of this man's countenance, which
once were iron, like the bars of Hell gate, and devilish
thoughts peeped through them; but now are as a cage
of very pitiful apes.

Wolfr.
Should we repent this change? I know not why.
We came disguised into the court, stiff limbed
With desperate intent, and doubly souled
With murder's devil and our own still ghosts.
But must I not relent, finding the heart,
For which my dagger hungered, so inclined
In brotherly affection unto me?
O bless the womanish weakness of my soul,
Which came to slay, and leads me now to save!

Isbr.

Hate! Hate! Revenge and blood! These
are the first words my boys shall learn. What accursed
poison has that Duke, that snake, with his
tongue, his fang, dropped into thine ear? Thou art no
brother of mine more: his soul was of that tune which
shall awaken the dead: for thine! if I could make a
trumpet of the devil's antlers, and blow thee through
it, my lady's poodle would be scarce moved to a hornpipe.
O fie on't! Thou my brother? Say when hast
thou undergone transfusion, and whose hostile blood
now turns thy life's wheels? Who has poured Lethe
into thy veins, and washed thy father out of heart and
brains? Ha! be pale, and smile, and be prodigal of
thy body's movements, for thou hast no soul more.
That thy sire placed in thee; and, with the determination
to avenge him, thou hast driven it out of doors.
But 'tis well so: why lament? Now I have all the
hatred and revenge of the world to myself to abhor
and murder him with.

Wolfr.
Thou speak'st unjustly, what thou rashly think'st;
But time must soften and convince: now leave me,
If thou hast nothing but reproach for pastime.

Isbr.

Be angry then, and we will curse each other.
But if thou goest now to deliver this man, come not
again for fear of me and our father's spirit: for when
he visits me in the night, screaming revenge, my heart
forgets that my head wears a fool's cap, and dreams of
daggers: come not again then!

Wolfr.
O think not, brother, that our father's spirit
Breathes earthy passion more: he is with me
And guides me to the danger of his foe,
Bringing from heaven, his home, pity and pardon.
But, should his blood need bloody expiation,
Then let me perish. Blind these eyes, my sire,
Palsy my vigorous arm, snow age upon me,
Strike me with lightning down into the deep,
Open me any grave that earth can spare,
Leave me the truth of love, and death is lovely.

[Exit.
Isbr.
O lion-heartedness right asinine!
Such lily-livered meek humanity
Saves not thy duke, good brother; it but shines
Sickly upon his doom, as moonbeams breaking
Upon a murderer's grave-digging spade.
Or fate's a fool, or I will be his fate.
What ho! Sir Knight! One word—Now for a face
As innocent and lamblike as the wool
That brings a plague.

(Re-enter Wolfram.)
Wolfr.
What will you more with me?

Isbr.
Go, if you must and will; but take with you
At least this letter of the governor's,
Which, in your haste, you dropped. I must be honest,
For so my hate was ever. Go.

Wolfr.
And prosper!

[Exit.
Isbr.
Now then he plunges right into the waters!
O Lie, O Lie, O lovely lady Lie,
They told me that thou art the devil's daughter.
Then thou art greater than thy father, Lie;
For while he mopes in Hell, thou queen'st it bravely,
Ruling the earth under the name of Truth,
While she is at the bottom of the well,
Where Joseph left her.


Song from the ship.

Isbr.
The idiot merriment of thoughtless men!
How the fish laugh at them, that swim and toy
About the ruined ship, wrecked deep below,
Whose pilot's skeleton, all full of sea weeds,
Leans on his anchor, grinning like their Hope.
But I will turn my bosom now to thee,
Brutus, thou saint of the avenger's order;
Refresh me with thy spirit, or pour in
Thy whole great ghost. Isbrand, thou tragic fool,
Cheer up. Art thou alone? Why so should be
Creators and destroyers. I'll go brood,
And strain my burning and distracted soul
Against the naked spirit of the world,
Till some portent's begotten.

[Exit.