 | The Palace of Truth |  |
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ACT I.
Scene.—Garden of King Phanor's Country House. King Phanor discovered with Chrysal, Zoram, Aristæus, and Palmis. Aristæus is standing sulkily apart.As the curtain rises, King Phanor is finishing a recitation which he is accompanying on a mandolin, in a very affected manner.
Phanor.
“Oh, I would not—no, I would not be there!”
(Zoram and Chrysal applaud vigorously.)
Chrysal.
My lord, I pray you read it once again,
My ears are greedy for the golden sound.
Phan.
Chrysal, you make me blush!
Chrys.
My lord, a blush
Is modesty's sole herald—and true worth
Is ever modest. Pray you, sir, again!
Phan.
It's a poor thing—a string of platitudes—
Stale metaphors—time-honoured similes.
I'm a poor poet, gentlemen!
Chrys.
I swear
There never lived a poet till now!
Zoram.
And then
The music you have wedded to the words
(I speak of this with some authority)
Shames, in its flow of rhythmic melody,
The counterpoint of Adam de la Halle!
Phan.
(bashfully).
The merit is not altogether mine.
I wrote the music—but I did not make
This dainty instrument. Why, who could fail
To charm, with such a mandolin as this?
Zor.
Believe me, the result would be the same,
Whether your lordship chose to play upon
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That knew no diatonic intervals,
Or the elaborate dis-diapason
(Four tetrachords, and one redundant note),
Embracing in its perfect consonance
All simple, double and inverted chords!
Phan.
(to Chrysal).
A wonderful musician—and a man
Of infinite good taste!
Zor.
Why, from my birth
I have made melope and counterpoint
My favourite study.
Phan.
And you really care
To hear my work again, O melodist?
Zor.
Again, my lord, and, even then again!
Phan.
(recites).
“When pitch-encrusted night aloft prevails;
“When no still goddess through the mid-air sails;
“When scorpions vomit forth their poisonous scum;
“When to the demon tryst gaunt witches come;
“When noisome pestilence stalks through the glen,
“Bellowing forth its enmity to men;
“When ghastly toads scream loudly through the air;
“Oh, I would not—no, I would not be there!”
Chrys.
(in raptures).
Why, where's the cunning of the sorcerer
Placed by the magic of such words as these?
“When pitch-encrusted night aloft prevails;”
Why, there's an epithet might make day night,
And shame the swallows to their couching place!
“When no still goddess through the mid-air sails!”
Why, here's a blackness, Zoram, so intense
It scares the very deities away!
Phan.
(explaining).
“Still goddess” means the moon.
Chrys.
The moon—my lord?
Of course—the moon! See how, in ignorance,
We seek upon the surface of the wave
For pearls that lie uncounted fathoms deep.
The darkness frightens e'en the moon away!
The metaphor is perfect!
Phan.
(annoyed).
No, no, no!
The moon has not yet risen, sir! The moon
Frightens the darkness—darkness don't fright her!
Why sits the genial Aristæus there
All solitary? How d'you like my work?
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We'll have some fun with him. (Aloud.)
Your verdict, come!
Arist.
I'm blunt and honest. I can't teach my tongue
To lie, as Zoram here, and Chrysal do.
I tell the truth, sir. If you want to know
My estimate of what you've given us,
I think your poetry contemptible—
Your melody, my lord, beneath contempt.
Phan.
That's rather strong.
Arist.
It's strong, my lord, but true.
I'm blunt—outspoken. If I've angered you,
So much the worse; I always speak the truth.
Chrys.
Heed not the yelping of this surly cur;
Nought satisfies him, Phanor!
Arist.
There you're wrong,
For I was satisfied to hear it once;
'Twas you that wanted it a second time!
Chrys.
Back to your kennel, sham Diogenes!
Arist.
I'm no Diogenes. He spent his life
Seeking an honest man. I live in courts.
Zor.
My lord, I pray you send the fellow hence,
For he and we are always out of tune.
An inharmonious bracketing of notes,
Whose musical extremes don't coalesce:
He's sharp and we are flat.
Arist.
Extremely flat!
Chrys.
He's vinegar, my lord, and we are oil.
Arist.
Oil is a sickening insipid food
Unless it's qualified with vinegar.
I'm rough and honest. If I've angered you,
I'll go.
Phan.
No, no, you have not angered us.
(Aside to Zoram)
I like the fellow's humour—he may rave!
I'm tired of hearing truths, so let him lie!
But where's Queen Altemire?
Chrys.
My lord, she comes—
A perfect type of perfect womanhood.
The dew of forty summers on her head
Has but matured her beauty, by my life!
For five and thirty years, a bud—and now
A rose full blown!
Arist.
Say over-blown.
Phan.
What's that?
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My lord, the Queen's too fat.
Phan.
Well, that may be.
But don't you tell her so. Your insolence
Amuses me—it won't amuse the Queen:
She has no sense of humour. So take care.
Arist.
My lord, I'm rough, but honest. I've a tongue
That cannot frame a lie.
Phan.
But bear in mind
Besides that very rough and honest tongue,
You have a palate, and a set of teeth,
And several delicate contrivances
That aid digestion. Tell her she's too fat,
And she may take offence; and, if she does,
She'll throw that apparatus out of work:
That's all.
Enter the Queen and Mirza.
Good morning, Altemire, my queen.
Why, you seem sad.
Altem.
My lord, I'm very sad.
Palmis.
The Queen is sad! Zoram, attune your lyre
And soothe her melancholy.
Altem.
No, no, no—
I'm not in cue for music—leave us, pray—
I would take counsel with my lord—look, sirs,
I am not well.
[The three Courtiers exeunt into house.
Phan.
(aside to Palmis).
Palmis, what's here amiss?
What causes this? Have I done anything?
Palmis.
I know not, but I think it bears upon
Your daughter's troth to brave Prince Philamir.
Whenever we have spoken on the point
She has commanded silence.
Phan.
Well, we'll see.
Chrysal awaits you—you may go to him;
Talk to him of your pledge to marry him,
And he'll not silence you. There, you may go.
[Exit Palmis into house.
Now what's the matter?
Altem.
Oh, I'm sick at heart
With apprehension! Our dear Zeolide
To-morrow is betrothed to Philamir,
The bravest and the most accomplished Prince
In Christendom. Phanor, she loves him not!
Phan.
What makes you think so?
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Phanor, you are blind!
Why, see how coldly Zeolide receives
His songs of love—his bursts of metaphor:
“I love you, Philamir,” and there's an end.
She will vouchsafe her spouse-elect no more—
No tenderness—no reciprocity;
A cold, half-sullen and half-wayward smile,
And that is all. The maiden lavishes
More love upon her horse!
Phan.
Perhaps she thinks
Her horse will bear such tokens of regard
With more discretion than her lover would!
Altem.
Phanor, I tell you she loves him not.
I am a woman, with a woman's tact.
Phan.
She says she loves him.
Altem.
So indeed she says,
And says no more. Phanor, had I been woo'd
With ardent songs of overwhelming love,
Framed by so fair a poet as Philamir,
It would have turned my giddy woman's brain,
And thrilled my reason to its very core!
Phan.
I never thought my wooing poetry,
Now I begin to think it may have been.
Mirza.
Oh, sir, I love the Princess. Pause before
You sacrifice her earthly happiness
For sordid ends of selfish policy.
The Prince is rich. What then? The girl is poor.
But what is wealth of gold to wealth of love?
What famine's so deplorable as his
Who hungers for a love he cannot find?
What luxury so wearisome as hers
Who's surfeited with love she values not?
King Phanor, let the Princess be released.
Altem.
My lady Mirza, you forget yourself!
Mirza.
I do forget myself, rememb'ring her;
I have her happiness at heart. The maid
Is more than life to me. Forgive me, Queen.
I could not help but speak.
Phan.
Well, say no more.
I'll question her, and if it then appears
She loves not Philamir, she shall be free.
I also love the girl—but, here she comes.
I'll find some test which shall decide the point.
[Exit Phanor into house.
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Altem.
My daughter, where's the Prince?
Zeo.
I cannot say;
I saw his highness yesterday, but since
Have not set eyes on him.
Altem.
Has he returned
From hunting?
Zeo.
Yes, I heard the Prince's voice
Not half an hour ago.
Altem.
And, in return,
You made no sign to him?
Zeo.
No sign, indeed.
I heard his song—'twas very sweetly sung;
It told of love—it called for no reply.
Altem.
A song of love that called for no reply?
Zeo.
It asked no question, mother.
Altem.
Surely, girl,
There may be questions that are not expressed.
Zeo.
And answers, mother—mine was one of them!
Altem.
Come, Zeolide, I've much to say to you.
Renounce Prince Philamir ere 'tis too late!
He will release you; he is proud and brave,
And would not force a hated life on you.
Come, Zeolide, throw off this weary bond,
And marry whom you love, or marry none!
Zeo.
As I am bound, dear mother, I'll remain,
So let me stay with Mirza.
Altem.
(annoyed).
You can stay!
[Exit Queen Altemire into house, glancing angrily at Mirza; Zeolide notices this with some surprise.
Zeo.
Why, Mirza, how my mother frowns at you!
How have you angered her?
Mirza.
I love you well;
And when I told her of my sister-love,
In words more passionate than politic,
The Queen rebuked me sternly.
Zeo.
Oh, for shame!
Mirza.
She is your mother, and she claims your love,
And cannot brook that I should share that love.
I can forgive the noble jealousy
That comes of woman's love for woman.
Zeo.
Yes;
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The best, the noblest woman in the world!
Mirza.
Why, here is warmth! and people call you cold,
Because you are so cold to Philamir.
Zeo.
Why, Mirza, he's a man!
Enter Philamir from house—he overhears Mirza.
Mirza.
A man indeed!
The bravest warrior that wields a sword;
The rarest poet that ever penned a lay;
An admirable knight—gay, handsome, young,
Brave, wealthy, and accomplished—with a tongue
Might shame a siren's!
Zeo.
Hush! a siren's tongue
Is not renowned for much sincerity.
Mirza.
He is sincere.
Zeo.
Indeed, I hope he is!
Phil.
(coming forward).
I thank you, Lady Mirza, for those words.
Mirza
(coldly).
I little thought that they were overheard.
This is ungenerous, Prince Philamir.
[Bows coldly and exit; Philamir rushes to Zeolide, who receives him very quietly.
Phil.
Dear Zeolide, at last we are alone!
Oh, I have longed for this!
Zeo.
Indeed! And why?
Phil.
And why? We can converse without reserve.
Zeo.
What should I say when we are quite alone
That I should leave unsaid were others here?
I can but say, “I love you,” Philamir.
Phil.
And is that all?
Zeo.
And is not that enough?
Phil.
All the world knows you love me!
Zeo.
That is why
I do not blush to own it in the world.
Phil.
But give me more—I love you, Zeolide,
As the earth loves the sun!
Zeo.
The earth is glad
To see the sun, and asks no more than that.
You would do well to imitate the earth.
Phil.
I am content to imitate the earth—
I am content to sit and gaze at you,
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But if you speak and wake me from that trance,
Wake me, dear Zeolide, with warmer words.
“I love you!” Why, I know you love me well!
Say nothing, Zeolide, and I'm content.
If you say anything, say more than that!
Zeo.
What words could I employ which, tested in
The crucible of unimpassioned truth,
Would not resolve themselves into those three?
Now I must go—your sun's about to set—
So farewell earth!
Phil.
And when the sun is down
The earth is inconsolable!
Zeo.
Until
The moon appears! Perhaps there is a moon
That fills my place until I rise again?
Phil.
No more, dear Zeolide; or, if there be,
She floats in one perpetual eclipse!
Zeo.
The moon is not the less a moon because
The earth thinks fit to hide her from the sun!
Phil.
Nay; you pursue the metaphor too far.
If I, the earth, conceal a nightly moon,
Why, you, the sun, have many worlds to warm,
And some are nearer to you than this earth!
Zeo.
Hush, Philamir! I'm ready to believe
That you're an earth that knows no moon at all,
If you'll allow that I, although a sun,
Consent to warm no other world than this!
(Kissing his forehead, and going.)
Phil.
Oh, do not leave me thus, dear Zeolide.
I am a beggar, begging charity;
Throw me more coin that bears the stamp of love!
Zeo.
I have one coin that bears that holy stamp—
I give you that—I have no more to give.
Phil.
Tell me its value, then, in words of love!
Zeo.
What! would you have me advertise my alms,
And trumpet forth my largess to the world?
Phil.
Not to the world, dear Zeolide—to me!
Zeo.
Ah, you would have me say, “You are my world!”
You see, I have the trick of ardent speech,
And I could use it, were I so disposed.
But surely, Philamir, the mendicant
Who is not satisfied to take my alms
Until he knows how much that alms be worth,
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I love you, Philamir—be satisfied.
Whose vows are made so earnestly as hers
Who would deceive you by her earnestness?
Why, if I sought to trick you, Philamir,
I should select such phrases for my end—
So passionate—and yet so delicate,
So fierce—from overflow of gentle love,
So furious—from excess of tenderness,
That even your expressions of regard,
Unbounded in their hot extravagance,
Would pale before the fury of my words,
And you, from very shame, would call them back,
And beg my pardon for their want of warmth!
I love you, Philamir—I'll say no more!
[Exit.
Phil.
Gone! But I'll follow her— (going).
Enter Phanor from house.
Phan.
Stop, Philamir,
If, as she says, she loves you, well and good;
She'll give you proof of it in her good time;
But if she don't, why, take an old boy's word
(Who speaks of love with some authority),
She'll love you none the better for the warmth
That prompts you to perpetual persecution.
The girl has taken this road—take you that.
[Philamir stands irresolute, then goes off slowly in the direction indicated.
That's good advice!
Enter Queen Altemire from house.
Altem.
My lord, old Gélanor,
The steward of your palace, has arrived
And waits without.
Phan.
We'll see him presently.
Altem.
(with some hesitation).
Now, do you know, I often wonder why,
Possessing such a palace, furnished with
The rarest luxuries that wealth can buy,
You hold your Court in this secluded place?
I have been married to you eighteen years,
Yet I have never seen this palace, which
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You visit regularly once a month.
Phan.
(rather confused).
There are good reasons, Altemire.
Altem.
(angry).
No doubt!
Exceedingly good reasons! When a man
Maintains a bachelor establishment,
He has the best of reasons to decline
To take his wife there!
Phan.
You're a jealous fool.
Altem.
Jealous I am, and possibly a fool,
But not a fool for being jealous.
Phan.
Peace,
And I will tell you why I take you not.
That palace is enchanted. Every one
Who enters there is bound to speak the truth—
The simple, unadulterated truth.
To every question that is put to him
He must return the unaffected truth.
And, strange to say, while publishing the truth
He's no idea that he is doing so;
And while he lets innumerable cats
Out of unnumbered bags, he quite believes
That all the while he's tightening the strings
That keep them from a too censorious world.
What do you say to that?
Altem.
(amazed).
Say? Would the world
Were one such palace, Phanor!
Phan.
If it were,
At least we all should meet on equal terms;
But to be taken from a world in which
That influence don't exist, and to be placed
Inside a fairy palace where it does
(Accompanied, moreover, by one's wife),
Might take one at a disadvantage!
Altem.
Well,
I am prepared to undergo the test
If you'll accompany me.
Phan.
No, no, no!
You are a worthy woman, Altemire,
But, Altemire, you have your faults!
Altem.
My lord,
I am a woman!
Phan.
Yes, exactly so!
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Or, being one, were some one else's wife,
I'd take you there to-morrow!
Altem.
But, my lord,
Why won't you take me, being what I am?
Phan.
Because, my wife, I don't know what you are.
Altem.
You know, at least, that I'm a faithful wife.
Phan.
I think you're more than faithful. I believe
You are a perfect woman, Altemire,
A pattern as a mother and a wife—
And, so believing, why, I do not care
To run the risk of being undeceived!
Altem.
(annoyed).
My lord, you are unjust! Can you believe
I should expose myself to such a test
Had I been guilty of unfaithfulness?
I am no perfect woman, Phanor. I have faults
That advertise themselves. No need to say
That I'm quick-tempered, jealous, over-prone
To underrate the worth of womankind—
Impetuous—unreasonable—vain—
I am a woman, with a woman's faults.
But, being woman, Phanor, I'm a wife;
And, in that I am one, I need not blush.
You have some better reason. Possibly
You dread the palace on your own account?
Phan.
I dread the palace, Altemire? No, no.
I am a child of impulse. All my faults
Lie on the surface. I have nought to hide.
Such little faults as sully me you know.
Altem.
Or guess.
Phan.
Ha! Am I then to understand
My Queen suspects her husband?
Altem.
Yes, you are!
Phan.
Then this decides me. You shall go with me.
Altem.
But—
Phan.
Not a word—King Phanor cannot brook
The breath of jealousy. With all his faults,
His married life has been as pure as snow.
We two will go this morning.
Altem.
Stay! A thought!
Let us take Zeolide and Philamir,
They shall not know the fairy influence
To which they are subjected. If the maid
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And the betrothal can be cancelled. If
She loves him, why, she'll show it all the more:
Then the betrothal shall be ratified.
Phan.
We will take Zeolide and Philamir,
Chrysal and Zoram—Aristæus too,
And Palmis—yes, and blameless Lady Mirza—
Mirza, the good, the beautiful, the pure!
Altem.
Mirza! Eternal Mirza! Everywhere
I hear her irritating virtues praised!
I'm weary of the woman!
Phan.
Stop a bit,
Till we are in the palace. Then we'll learn
Not only your opinion of her worth,
But also why you hold it.
Altem.
Well, well, well!
The maid is young and beautiful, and I
Am envious of that youth and beauty. See,
I can anticipate the influence
To which I'm going to subject myself.
There I was wrong. Mirza shall go with us,
And by her conduct under such a test,
Prove the injustice of my estimate.
I'll go and warn the Court.
[Exit Queen Altemire into house.
Phan.
The course I take
Is rather rash, but the experiment
Will not be destitute of interest.
Enter Gélanor from house.
Well, Gélanor, what tidings do you bring?
About our palace?
Gélan.
Sir, the old, old tale.
Men come and go—and women come and go.
Although the palace gates are opened wide
To rich and poor alike—and rich and poor
Alike receive full hospitality
For any length of time they care to stay,
Few care to stay above a day or two.
Free entertainment in a princely home
Is little valued when it's coupled with
The disadvantage of a dwelling-place
Where every one is bound to speak the truth.
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Phan.
To-day.
But this time not alone, good Gélanor.
Gélan.
And who is to accompany you, sir?
Phan.
My wife.
Gélan.
Your wife?
Phan.
My wife.
Gélan.
Great heavens, my lord,
Have you reflected?
Phan.
Yes.
Gélan.
To any place
Where one is bound to speak the baldest truth
Concerning all the actions of one's life,
It's hardly politic to take one's wife!
Phan.
Oh, I've the fullest confidence in her.
She's a good woman, Gélanor.
Gélan.
Ah, sir,
I have seen married couples, by the score,
Who, when they passed within our crystal walls,
Have boldly advertised themselves prepared
To stake their souls upon each other's faith—
But who, before they've spent an hour at most
Under the castle's mystic influence,
Have separated ne'er to meet again!
Oh, have a care!
Phan.
Queen Altemire knows all,
And knowing all, she fears not for herself,
So I've no fear for her!
Gélan.
But you, my liege—
How will you bear yourself 'neath such a test?
You have been married nearly eighteen years:
That's a long time!
Enter Mirza, unobserved.
Phan.
Well, yes—I've thought of that.
I'm a good husband—as good husbands go.
I love my wife—but still—you understand—
Boys will be boys! There is a point or two—
Say two, as being nearer to the mark—
On which I do not altogether care
To stand examination by my wife.
Perhaps I may have given out that I've
Been dining here—when I've been dining there—
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I may have said “with him”—when 'twas with her—
Distinctions such as these, good Gélanor,
Though strangely unimportant in themselves,
Still have a value, which the female mind's
Particularly quick to apprehend.
Now here's a talisman—a crystal box— (producing it).
Whoever carries this within those walls
May overcome the castle's influence,
And utter truth or falsehood as he wills.
I should do well, I think, to take this box?
Gélan.
From all accounts, my lord, I think you would!
(Sees Mirza.)
Ahem! We are observed!
Mirza.
My lord, I trust
My presence here is not inopportune?
I will withdraw.
Phan.
No, Lady Mirza, no!
I was exhibiting to Gélanor
A curious specimen of crystal work—
He understands such things.
Mirza
(taking box).
And so do I.
How marvellously pure! No single flaw
Affects its exquisite transparency!
A perfect emblem of a spotless life!
Gélan.
But, Lady Mirza, perfect spotlessness
Is apt to smack of insipidity.
Mirza.
No—hold it to the light, and see the change!
See how its exquisite prismatic hues,
Under the influence of searching light,
Are instantly made clear and manifest.
As shines this crystal in the sun, so shines
A perfect woman in the light of truth.
The modest beauties of a spotless life
Remain unknown and unsuspected, till
A ray of truth-light starts them into life,
And shows them—all unwilling—to the world!
Gélan.
But there are hidden qualities of soul
That even truth cannot detect. Suppose
This crystal, peerless in its spotlessness,
Turned out to be a potent talisman,
With power to work all kinds of devilry?
There are such things!
Phan.
(aside).
Why, there are women, too
(I have known many such), to whom the box
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Mirza.
Impossible, my lord. I'll not believe
That aught so beautiful could be so base.
(Returning it.)
I thank you, sir. I've read a lesson here
That I shall take good heed to profit by.
Enter the Queen Altemire, with Zeolide, Phanor, Aristæus, Zoram, and Palmis, from house.
Altem.
Here comes your Court, my lord.
Phan.
That's well. My friends,
I have a palace, twenty miles away—
A lovely place, engirt with crystal walls;
Its grounds will show fair flowers and shady groves,
Huge forest trees, rare fountains, hill and dale.
There's hunting, fishing—eighteen years preserved!
There the sun shines unclouded all day long.
What say you—will you go?
Chrys.
Go? What care I
Whether it rain or shine so that I may
Bask in the sunshine of my King and Queen!
Phan.
In half an hour we start. Once there, our life
Shall be a song, and Aristæus here,
The jolly, genial, laughing Aristæus,
Shall strike the key-note!
Arist.
Well, I'll do my best.
Zor.
But pray consider. If the intervals
Throughout the diatonic series, sir,
Were mathematically equal, why,
It would not greatly matter, as you know,
Upon what note your melody commenced.
But as it is not so, we must respect
The intervals the melody demands.
No key-note struck by Aristæus could
Be correspondent with those intervals!
Phil.
I'll give the key-note. We will pass the day
By quivering willows at the waterside,
Lapped in a lazy luxury of love!
There we'll forget the world of work-a-day,
And crown our happiness with songs of love!
What say you, dearest Zeolide?
Zeo.
I've said
As much as it is maidenly to say—
I love you, Philamir—be satisfied!
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