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The Romantic Age: A Comedy In Three Acts, a play by A. A. Milne |
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Act 2 |
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_ ACT II (It is seven o'clock on a beautiful midsummer morning. The scene is a glade in a wood a little way above the village of Hedgling.)
ERN. Oo--er! Oo! (He circles slowly round GERVASE.) GERVASE. I quite agree with you. ERN. Oo! Look! GERVASE. Yes, it is a bit dressy, isn't it? Come round to the back--take a good look at it while you can. That's right. . . . Been all round? Good! ERN. Oo! GERVASE. You keep saying "Oo." It makes conversation very difficult. Do you mind if I sit down? ERN. Oo! GERVASE (sitting down on a log). I gather that I have your consent. I thank you. ERN. Oo! Look! (He points at GERVASE'S legs.) GERVASE. What is it now? My legs? Oh, but surely you've noticed those before? ERN (sitting down in front of GERVASE). Oo! GERVASE. Really, I don't understand you. I came up here for a walk in a perfectly ordinary blue suit, and you do nothing but say "Oo." What does your father wear when he's ploughing? I suppose you don't walk all round _him_ and say "Oo!" What does your Uncle George wear when he's reaping? I suppose you don't--By the way, I wish you'd tell me your name. (ERN gazes at him dumbly.) Oh, come! They must have told you your name when you got up this moving. ERN (smiling sheepishly). Ern. GERVASE (bowing). How do you do? I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Hearne. My name is Mallory. (ERN grins) Thank you. ERN (tapping himself). I'm Ern. GERVASE. Yes, I'm Mallory. ERN. Ern. GERVASE. Mallory. We can't keep on saying this to each other, you know, because then we never get any farther. Once an introduction is over, Mr. Hearne, we are-- ERN. Ern. GERVASE. Yes, I know. I was very glad to hear it. But now--Oh, I see what you mean. Ern--short for Ernest? ERN (nodding). They calls me Ern. GERVASE. That's very friendly of them. Being more of a stranger I shall call you Ernest. Well, Ernest-- (getting up) Just excuse me a moment, will you? Very penetrating bark this tree has. It must be a Pomeranian. (He folds his cloak upon it and sits down again) That's better. Now we can talk comfortably together. I don't know if there's anything you particularly want to discuss--nothing?--well, then, I will suggest the subject of breakfast. ERN (grinning). 'Ad my breakfast. GERVASE. You've _had_ yours? You selfish brute! . . . Of course, you're wondering why I haven't had mine. ERN. Bacon fat. (He makes reminiscent noises.) GERVASE. Don't keep on going through all the courses. Well, what happened was this. My car broke down. I suppose you never had a motor car of your own. ERN. Don't like moty cars. GERVASE. Well, really, after last night I'm inclined to agree with you. Well, no, I oughtn't to say that, because, if I hadn't broken down, I should never have seen Her. Ernest, I don't know if you're married or anything of that sort, but I think even your rough stern heart would have been moved by that vision of loveliness which I saw last night. (He is silent for a little, thinking of her.) Well, then, I lost my way. There I was--ten miles from anywhere--in the middle of what was supposed to be a short cut--late at night--Midsummer Night--what would _you_ have done, Ernest? ERN. Gone 'ome. GERVASE. Don't be silly. How could I go home when I didn't know where home was, and it was a hundred miles away, and I'd just seen the Princess? No, I did what your father or your Uncle George or any wise man would have done, I sat in the car and thought of Her. ERN. Oo! GERVASE. You are surprised? Ah, but if you'd seen her. . . . Have you ever been alone in the moonlight on Midsummer Night--I don't mean just for a minute or two, but all through the night until the dawn came? You aren't really alone, you know. All round you there are little whisperings going on, little breathings, little rustlings. Somebody is out hunting; somebody stirs in his sleep as he dreams again the hunt of yesterday; somebody up in the tree-tops pipes suddenly to the dawn, and then, finding that the dawn has not come, puts his silly little head back under his wing and goes to sleep again. . . . And the fairies are out. Do you believe in fairies, Ernest? You would have believed in them last night. I heard them whispering. ERN. Oo! GERVASE (coming out of his thoughts with a laugh). Well, of course, I can't expect you to believe me. But don't go about thinking that there's nothing in the world but bacon fat and bull's-eyes. Well, then, I suppose I went to sleep, for I woke up suddenly and it was morning, the most wonderful sparkling magical morning--but, of course, _you_ were just settling down to business then. ERN. Oo! (He makes more reminiscent noises.) GERVASE. Yes, that's just what I said. I said to myself, breakfast. ERN. 'Ad my breakfast. GERVASE. Yes, but I 'adn't. I said to myself, "Surely my old friend, Ernest, whom I used to shoot bison with in the Himalayas, has got an estate somewhere in these parts. I will go and share his simple meal with him." So I got out of the car, and I did what you didn't do, young man, I had a bathe in the river, and then a dry on a pocket-handkerchief--one of my sister's, unfortunately--and then I came out to look for breakfast. And suddenly, whom should I meet but my old friend, Ernest, the same hearty fellow, the same inveterate talker as when we shot dragon-flies together in the swamps of Malay. (Shaking his hand) Ernest, old boy, pleased to meet you. What about it? ERN. 'Ad my-- GERVASE. S'sh. (He gets up) Now then--to business. Do you mind looking the other way while I try to find my purse. (Feeling for it.) Every morning when you get up, you should say, "Thank God, I'm getting a big boy now and I've got pockets in my trousers." And you should feel very sorry for the poor people who lived in fairy books and had no trousers to put pockets in. Ah, here we are. Now then, Ernest, attend very carefully. Where do you live? ERN. 'Ome. GERVASE. You mean, you haven't got a flat of your own yet? Well, how far away is your home? (ERN grins and says nothing) A mile? (ERN continues to grin) Half a mile? (ERN grins) Six inches? ERN (pointing). Down there. GERVASE. Good. Now then, I want you to take this-- (giving him half-a-crown)-- ERN. Oo! GERVASE. Yes, I thought that would move you--and I want you to ask your mother if you can bring me some breakfast up here. Now, listen very carefully, because we are coming to the important part. Hard-boiled eggs, bread, butter, and a bottle of milk--and anything else she likes. Tell her that it's most important, because your old friend Mallory whom you shot white mice with in Egypt is starving by the roadside. And if you come back here with a basket quickly, I'll give you as many bull's-eyes as you can eat in a week. (Very earnestly) Now, Ernest, with all the passion and emotion of which I am capable before breakfast, I ask you: have you got that? ERN (nodding). Going 'ome. (He looks at the half-crown again.) GERVASE. Going 'ome. Yes. But--returning with breakfast. Starving man--lost in forest--return with basket--save life. (To himself) I believe I could explain it better to a Chinaman. (to ERN) Now then, off you go. ERN (as he goes off). 'Ad my breakfast. GERVASE. Yes, and I wonder if I shall get mine. (GERVASE walks slowly after him and stands looking at him as he goes down the hill. Then, turning round, he sees another stranger in the distance.) GERVASE. Hullo, here's another of them. (He walks towards the log) Horribly crowded the country's getting nowadays. (He puts on his coat.) (A moment later a travelling Peddler, name of SUSAN, comes in singing. He sees GERVASE sitting on the log.) SUSAN (with a bow). Good morning, sir. GERVASE. (looking round). Good morning. SUSAN. I had thought to be alone. I trust my singing did not discommode you. GERVASE. Not at all. I like it. Do go on. SUSAN. Alas, the song ends there. GERVASE. Oh, well, couldn't we have it again? SUSAN. Perhaps later, sir, if you insist. (Taking off his hat) Would it inconvenience you if I rested here for a few minutes? GERVASE. Not a bit. It's a jolly place to rest at, isn't it? Have you come far this morning? SUSAN. Three or four miles--a mere nothing on a morning like this. Besides, what does the great William say? GERVASE. I don't think I know him. What does he say? SUSAN. A merry heart goes all the way. GERVASE. Oh, Shakespeare, yes. SUSAN. And why, you ask, am I merry? GERVASE. Well, I didn't, but I was just going to. Why are you merry? SUSAN. Can you not guess? What does the great Ralph say? GERVASE (trying hard). The great Ralph. . . . No, you've got me there. I'm sure I don't know him. Well, what does he say? SUSAN. Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of Empires ridiculous. GERVASE. Emerson, of course. Silly of me. SUSAN. So you see, sir--I am well, the day is well, all is well. GERVASE. Sir, I congratulate you. In the words of the great Percy--(to himself) that's got him. SUSAN (at a loss). The--er--great Percy? GERVASE. Hail to thee, blithe spirit! SUSAN (eagerly). I take you, I take you! Shelley! Ah, there's a poet, Mr.--er--I don't think I quite caught your name. GERVASE. Oh! My name's Gervase Mallory--to be referred to by posterity, I hope, as the great Gervase. SUSAN. Not a poet, too? GERVASE. Well, no, not professionally. SUSAN. But one with the poets in spirit--like myself. I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Mallory. It is most good-natured of you to converse with me. My name is Susan, (GERVASE bows.) Generally called Master Susan in these parts, or sometimes Gentleman Susan. I am a travelling Peddler by profession. GERVASE. A delightful profession, I am sure. SUSAN. The most delightful of all professions. (He begins to undo his pack,) Speaking professionally for the moment, if I may so far venture, you are not in any need of boot-laces, buttons, or collar-studs? GERVASE (smiling). Well, no, not at this actual moment. On almost any other day perhaps--but no, not this morning. SUSAN. I only just mentioned it in passing--_en passant_, as the French say. (He brings out a paper bag from his pack.) Would the fact of my eating my breakfast in this pleasant resting place detract at all from your appreciation of the beautiful day which Heaven has sent us? GERVASE. Eating your _what_? SUSAN. My simple breakfast. GERVASE (shaking his head). I'm very sorry, but I really don't think I could bear it. Only five minutes ago Ernest--I don't know if you know Ernest? SUSAN. The great Ernest? GERVASE (indicating with his hand). No, the very small one--Well, _he_ was telling me all about the breakfast he'd just had, and now _you're_ showing me the breakfast you're just going to have--no, I can't bear it. SUSAN. My dear sir, you don't mean to tell me that you would do me the honour of joining me at my simple repast? GERVASE (jumping up excitedly). The honour of joining you!--the _honour_! My dear Mr. Susan! Now I know why they call you Gentleman Susan. (Shaking his head sadly) But no. It wouldn't be fair to you. I should eat too much. Besides, Ernest may come back. No, I will wait. It wouldn't be fair. SUSAN (unpacking his breakfast). Bacon or cheese? GERVASE. Cheese--I mean bacon--I mean--I say, you aren't serious? SUSAN (handing him bread and cheese). I trust you will find it up to your expectations. GERVASE (taking it). I say, you really--(Solemnly) Master Susan, with all the passion and emotion of which I am capable before breakfast, I say "Thank you." (He takes a bite) Thank you. SUSAN (eating also). Please do not mention it. I am more than repaid by your company. GERVASE. It is charming of you to say so, and I am very proud to be your guest, but I beg you to allow me to pay for this delightful cheese. SUSAN. No, no. I couldn't hear of it. GERVASE. I warn you that if you will not allow me to pay for this delightful cheese, I shall insist on buying all your boot-laces. Nay, more, I shall buy all your studs, and all your buttons. Your profession would then be gone. SUSAN. Well, well, shall we say tuppence? GERVASE. Tuppence for a banquet like this? My dear friend, nothing less than half-a-crown will satisfy me. SUSAN. Sixpence. Not a penny more. GERVASE (with a sigh). Very well, then. (He begins to feel in his pocket, and in so doing reveals part of his dress. SUSAN opens his eyes at it, and then goes on eating. GERVASE finds his purse and produces sixpence, which he gives to SUSAN) Sir, I thank you. (He resumes his breakfast.) SUSAN. You are too generous. . . . Forgive me for asking, but you are not by chance a fellow-traveller upon the road? GERVASE. Do you mean professionally? SUSAN. Yes. There is a young fellow, a contortionist and sword-swallower, known locally in these parts as Humphrey the Human Hiatus, who travels from village to village. Just for a moment I wondered-- (He glances at GERVASE's legs, which are uncovered. GERVASE hastily wraps his coat round them.) GERVASE. I am not Humphrey. No. Gervase the Cheese Swallower. . . . Er--my costume-- SUSAN. Please say nothing more. It was ill-mannered of me to have inquired. Let a man wear what he likes. It is a free world. GERVASE. Well, the fact is, I have been having a bathe. SUSAN (with a bow). I congratulate you on your bathing costume. GERVASE. Not at all. SUSAN. You live near here then? GERVASE. Little Malling. I came over in a car. SUSAN. Little Malling? That's about twenty miles away. GERVASE. Oh, much more than that surely. SUSAN. No. There's Hedgling down there. GERVASE (surprised). Hedgling? Heavens, how I must have lost my way. . . . Then I have been within a mile of her all night. And I never knew! SUSAN. You are married, Mr. Mallory? GERVASE. No. Not yet. SUSAN. Get married. GERVASE. What? SUSAN. Take my advice and get married. GERVASE. You recommend it? SUSAN. I do. . . . There is no companion like a wife, if you marry the right woman. GERVASE. Oh? SUSAN. I have been married thirty years. Thirty years of happiness. GERVASE. But in your profession you must go away from your wife a good deal. SUSAN (smiling). But then I come back to her a good deal. GERVASE (thoughtfully). Yes, that must be rather jolly. SUSAN. Why do you think I welcomed your company so much when I came upon you here this morning? GERVASE (modestly). Oh, well---- SUSAN. It was something to tell my wife when I got back to her. When you are married, every adventure becomes two adventures. You have your adventure, and then you go back to your wife and have your adventure again. Perhaps it is a better adventure that second time. You can say the things which you didn't quite say the first time, and do the things which you didn't quite do. When my week's travels are ever, and I go back to my wife, I shall have a whole week's happenings to tell her. They won't lose in the telling, Mr. Mallory. Our little breakfast here this morning--she will love to hear about that. I can see her happy excited face as I tell her all that I said to you, and--if I can remember it--all that you said to me. GERVASE (eagerly). I say, how jolly! (Thoughtfully) You won't forget what I said about the Great Percy? I thought that was rather good. SUSAN. I hope it wasn't too good, Mr. Mallory. If it was, I shall find myself telling it to her as one of my own remarks. That's why I say "Get married." Then you can make things fair for yourself. You can tell her all the good things of mine which _you_ said. GERVASE. But there must be more in marriage than that. SUSAN. There are a million things in marriage, but companionship is at the bottom of it all. . . . Do you know what companionship means? GERVASE. How do you mean? Literally? SUSAN. The derivation of it in the dictionary. It means the art of having meals with a person. Cynics talk of the impossibility of sitting opposite the same woman every day at breakfast. Impossible to _them_, perhaps, poor shallow-hearted creatures, but not impossible to two people who have found what love is. GERVASE. It doesn't sound very romantic. SUSAN (solemnly). It is the most romantic thing in the whole world. . . . Some more cheese? GERVASE (taking it). Thank you. . . . (Thoughtfully) Do you believe in love at first sight, Master Susan? SUSAN. Why not? If it's the woman you love at first sight, not only the face. GERVASE. I see. (After a pause) It's rather hard to tell, you know. I suppose the proper thing to do is to ask her to have breakfast with you, and see how you get on. SUSAN. Well, you might do worse. GERVASE (laughing). And propose to her after breakfast? SUSAN. If you will. It is better than proposing to her at a ball as some young people do, carried away suddenly by a snatched kiss in the moonlight. GERVASE (shaking his head). Nothing like that happened last night. SUSAN. What does the Great Alfred say of the kiss? GERVASE. I never read the _Daily Mail_. SUSAN. Tennyson, Mr. Mallory, Tennyson. GERVASE. Oh, I beg your pardon. SUSAN. "The kiss," says the Great Alfred, "the woven arms, seem but to be weak symbols of the settled bliss, the comfort, I have found in thee." The same idea, Mr. Mallory. Companionship, or the art of having breakfast with a person. (Getting up) Well, I must be moving on. _We_ have been companions for a short time; I thank you for it. I wish you well. GERVASE (getting up). I say, I've been awfully glad to meet you. And I shall never forget the breakfast you gave me. SUSAN. It is friendly of you to say so. GERVASE (hesitatingly). You won't mind my having another one when Ernest comes back--I mean, if Ernest comes back? You won't think I'm slighting yours in any way? But after an outdoor bathe, you know, one does---- SUSAN. Please! I am happy to think you have such an appetite. GERVASE (holding out his hand). Well, good-bye, Mr. Susan, (SUSAN looks at his hand doubtfully, and GERVASE says with a laugh) Oh, come on! SUSAN (shaking it). Good-bye, Mr. Mallory. GERVASE. And I shan't forget what you said. SUSAN (smiling). I expect you will, Mr. Mallory. Good-bye. [He goes off.] GERVASE (calling after him). Because it wasn't the moonlight, it wasn't really. It was just _Her_. (To himself) It was just _Her_. . . . I suppose the great Whatsisname would say, "It was just She," but then, that isn't what I mean. (GERVASE watches him going down the hill. Then he turns to the other side, says, "Hallo!" suddenly in great astonishment, and withdraws a few steps.) GERVASE. It can't be! (He goes cautiously forward and looks again) It is! (He comes back, and walks gently off through the trees.) (MELISANDE comes in. She has no hat; her hair is in two plaits to her waist; she is wearing a dress which might belong to any century. She stands in the middle of the glade, looks round it, holds out her hands to it for a moment, and then clasps them with a sigh of happiness. . . .) (GERVASE, his cloak thrown away, comes in behind her. For a moment he is half-hidden by the trees.) GERVASE (very softly). Princess! (She hears but thinks she is still dreaming. She smiles a little.) GERVASE (a little more loudly). Princess! (She listens and nods to herself, GERVASE steps out into the open.) GERVASE. Princess! (She turns round.) MELISANDE (looking at him wonderingly). You! GERVASE. At your service, Princess. MELISANDE. It was you who came last night. GERVASE. I was at your father's court last night. I saw you. You looked at me. MELISANDE. I thought it was only a dream when I looked at you. I thought it was a dream when you called me just now. Is it still a dream? GERVASE. If it is a dream, let us go on dreaming. MELISANDE. Where do you come from? Fairyland? GERVASE. This is Fairyland. We are in the enchanted forest. MELISANDE (with a sigh of happiness). Ah! GERVASE. You have been looking for it? MELISANDE. For so long. (She is silent for a little, and then says with a smile) May one sit down in an enchanted forest? GERVASE. Your throne awaits you. (He spreads his cloak over the log.) MELISANDE. Thank you. . . . Won't you sit, too? GERVASE (shaking his head). I haven't finished looking at you yet. . . . You are very lovely, Princess. MELISANDE. Am I? GERVASE. Haven't they told you? MELISANDE. Perhaps I wondered sometimes. GERVASE. Very lovely. . . . Have you a name which goes with it? MELISANDE. My name is Melisande. GERVASE (his whole heart in it). Melisande! MELISANDE (content at last). Ah! GERVASE (solemnly). Now the Princess Melisande was very beautiful. (He lies down on the grass near her, looks up at her and is silent for a little.) MELISANDE (smiling shyly). May we talk about _you_, now? GERVASE. It is for the Princess to say what we shall talk about. If your Royal Highness commands, then I will even talk about myself. MELISANDE. You see, I don't know your name yet. GERVASE. I am called Gervase. MELISANDE. Gervase. It is a pretty name. GERVASE. I have been keeping it for this morning. MELISANDE. It will be Prince Gervase, will it not, if this is Fairyland? GERVASE. Alas, no. For I am only a humble woodcutter's son. One of seven. MELISANDE. Of seven? I thought that humble woodcutters always had three sons, and that it was the youngest who went into the world to seek his fortune. GERVASE. Three--that's right. I said "one of several." Now that I count them up, three. (Counting on his fingers) Er--Bowshanks, er--Mulberry-face and myself. Three. I am the youngest. MELISANDE. And the fairies came to your christening? GERVASE. Now for the first time I think that they did. MELISANDE (nodding). They always come to the christening of the third and youngest son, and they make him the tallest and the bravest and the most handsome. GERVASE (modestly). Oh, well. MELISANDE. You _are_ the tallest and the bravest and the most handsome, aren't you? GERVASE (with a modest smile). Well, of course, Mulberry-face is hardly a starter, and then Bowshanks-- (he indicates the curve of his legs)--I mean, there's not much competition. MELISANDE. I have no sisters. GERVASE. The Princess never has sisters. She has suitors. MELISANDE (with a sigh). Yes, she has suitors. GERVASE (taking out his dagger). Tell me their names that I may remove them for you. MELISANDE. There is one dressed in black and white who seeks to win my hand. GERVASE (feeling the point). He bites the dust to-morrow. MELISANDE. To-morrow? GERVASE. Unless it rains in the night. Perhaps it would be safer if we arranged for him to bite it this afternoon. MELISANDE. How brave you are! GERVASE. Say no more. It will be a pleasure. MELISANDE. Ah, but I cannot ask you to make this sacrifice for me. GERVASE. The sacrifice will be his. MELISANDE. But are you so certain that _you_ will kill him? Suppose he were to kill _you_? GERVASE (getting up). Madam, when the third son of a humble woodcutter engages in mortal combat with one upon whom the beautiful Princess has frowned, there can be but one end to the struggle. To doubt this would be to let Romance go. MELISANDE. You are right. I should never have doubted. GERVASE. At the same time, it would perhaps be as well to ask the help of my Uncle Otto. MELISANDE. But is it fair to seek the assistance of an uncle in order to kill one small black and white suitor? GERVASE. Ah, but he is a wizard. One is always allowed to ask the help of a wizard. My idea was that he should cast a spell upon the presumptuous youth who seeks to woo you, so that to those who gazed upon him he should have the outward semblance of a rabbit. He would then realise the hopelessness of his suit and . . . go away. MELISANDE (with dignity). I should certainly never marry a small black and white rabbit. GERVASE. No, you couldn't, could you? MELISANDE (gravely). No. (Then their eyes meet. There is a twinkle in his; hers respond; and suddenly they are laughing together.) What nonsense you talk! GERVASE. Well, it's such an absurdly fine morning, isn't it? There's a sort of sparkle in the air. I'm really trying to be quite sensible. MELISANDE (making room for him at her feet). Go on talking nonsense. (He sits down on the ground and leans against the log at her side.) Tell me about yourself. You have told me nothing yet, but that (she smiles at him) your father is a woodcutter. GERVASE. Yes. He--er--cuts wood. MELISANDE. And you resolved to go out into the world and seek your fortune? GERVASE. Yes. You see if you are a third son of a humble woodcutter, nobody thinks very much of you at home, and they never take you out with them; and when you are cutting wood, they always put you where the sawdust gets into your mouth. Because, you see, they have never read history, and so they don't know that the third and youngest son is always the nicest of the family. MELISANDE. And the tallest and the bravest and the most handsome. GERVASE. _And_ all the other things you mention. MELISANDE. So you ran away? GERVASE. So I ran away--to seek my fortune. MELISANDE. But your uncle the wizard, or your godmother or somebody, gave you a magic ring to take with you on your travels? (Nodding) They always do, you know. GERVASE (showing the ring on his finger). Yes, my fairy godmother gave me a magic ring. Here it is. MELISANDE (looking at it). What does it do? GERVASE. You turn it round once and think very hard of anybody you want, and suddenly the person you are thinking of appears before you. MELISANDE. How wonderful! Have you tried it yet? GERVASE. Once. . . . That's why you are here. MELISANDE. Oh! (Softly) Have you been thinking of me? GERVASE. All night. MELISANDE. I dreamed of you all night. GERVASE (happily). Did you, Melisande? How dear of you to dream of me! (Anxiously) Was I--was I all right? MELISANDE. Oh, yes! GERVASE (pleased). Ah! (He spreads himself a little and removes a speck of dust from his sleeve) MELISANDE (thinking of it still). You were so brave. GERVASE. Yes, I expect I'm pretty brave in other people's dreams--I'm so cowardly in my own. Did I kill anybody? MELISANDE. You were engaged in a terrible fight with a dragon when I woke up. GERVASE. Leaving me and the dragon still asleep--I mean, still fighting? Oh, Melisande, how could you leave us until you knew who had won? MELISANDE. I tried so hard to get back to you. GERVASE. I expect I was winning, you know. I wish you could have got back for the finish. . . . Melisande, let me come into your dreams again to-night. MELISANDE. You never asked me last night. You just came. GERVASE. Thank you for letting me come. MELISANDE. And then when I woke up early this morning, the world was so young, so beautiful, so fresh that I had to be with it. It called to me so clearly--to come out and find its secret. So I came up here, to this enchanted place, and all the way it whispered to me--wonderful things. GERVASE. What did it whisper, Melisande? MELISANDE. The secret of happiness. GERVASE. Ah, what is it, Melisande? (She smiles and shakes her head). . . . I met a magician in the woods this morning. MELISANDE. Did he speak to you? GERVASE. _He_ told _me_ the secret of happiness. MELISANDE. What did he tell you? GERVASE. He said it was marriage. MELISANDE. Ah, but he didn't mean by marriage what so many people mean. GERVASE. He seemed a very potent magician. MELISANDE. Marriage to many people means just food. Housekeeping. _He_ didn't mean that. GERVASE. A very wise and reverend magician. MELISANDE. Love is romance. Is there anything romantic in breakfast--or lunch? GERVASE. Well, not so much in lunch, of course, but--- MELISANDE. How well you understand! Why do the others not understand? GERVASE (smiling at her). Perhaps because they have not seen Melisande. MELISANDE. Oh no, no, that isn't it. All the others--- GERVASE. Do you mean your suitors? MELISANDE. Yes. They are so unromantic, so material. The clothes they wear; the things they talk about. But you are so different. Why is it? GERVASE. I don't know. Perhaps because I am the third son of a woodcutter. Perhaps because they don't know that you are the Princess. Perhaps because they have never been in the enchanted forest. MELISANDE. What would the forest tell them? GERVASE. All the birds in the forest are singing "Melisande"; the little brook runs through the forest murmuring "Melisande"; the tall trees bend their heads and whisper to each other "Melisande." All the flowers have put on their gay dresses for her. Oh, Melisande! MELISANDE (awed). Is it true? (They are silent for a little, happy to be together. . . . He looks back at her and gives a sudden little laugh.) What is it? GERVASE. Just you and I--together--on the top of the world like this. MELISANDE. Yes, that's what I feel, too. (After a pause) Go on pretending. GERVASE. Pretending? MELISANDE. That the world is very young. GERVASE. _We_ are very young, Melisande. MELISANDE (timidly). It is only a dream, isn't it? GERVASE. Who knows what a dream is? Perhaps we fell asleep in Fairyland a thousand years ago, and all that we thought real was a dream, until now at last we are awake again. MELISANDE. How wonderful that would be. GERVASE. Perhaps we are dreaming now. But is it your dream or my dream, Melisande? MELISANDE (after thinking it out). I think I would rather it were your dream, Gervase. For then I should be in it, and that would mean that you had been thinking of me. GERVASE. Then it shall be _my_ dream, Melisande. MELISANDE. Let it be a long one, my dear. GERVASE. For ever and for ever. MELISANDE (dreamily). Oh, I know that it is only a dream, and that presently we shall wake up; or else that you will go away and I will go away, too, and we shall never meet again; for in the real world, what could I be to you, or you to me? So go on pretending. (He stands up and faces her.) GERVASE. Melisande, if this were Fairyland, or if we were knights and ladies in some old romance, would you trust yourself to me? MELISANDE. So very proudly. GERVASE. You would let me come to your father's court and claim you over all your other suitors, and fight for you, and take you away with me? MELISANDE. If this were Fairyland, yes. GERVASE. You would trust me? MELISANDE. I would trust my lord. GERVASE (smiling at her). Then I will come for the Princess this afternoon. (With sudden feeling) Ah, how can I keep away now that I have seen the Princess? MELISANDE (shyly--happily). When you saw me last night, did you know that you would see me again? GERVASE. I have been waiting for you here. MELISANDE. How did you know that I would come? GERVASE. On such a morning--in such a place--how could the loved one not be here? MELISANDE (looking away). The loved one? GERVASE. I saw you last night. MELISANDE (softly). Was that enough? GERVASE. Enough, yes. Enough? Oh no, no, no! MELISANDE (nodding). I will wait for you this afternoon. GERVASE. And you will come away with me? Out into the world with me? Over the hills and far away with me? MELISANDE (softly). Over the hills and far away. GERVASE (going to her). Princess! MELISANDE. Not Princess. GERVASE. Melisande! MELISANDE (holding out her hand to him). Ah! GERVASE. May I kiss your hands, Melisande? MELISANDE. They are my lord's to kiss. GERVASE (kissing them). Dear hands. MELISANDE. Now I shall love them, too. GERVASE. May I kiss your lips, Melisande? MELISANDE (proudly). Who shall, if not my lord? GERVASE. Melisande! (He touches her lips with his.) MELISANDE (breaking away from him). Oh! GERVASE (triumphantly). I love you, Melisande! I love you! MELISANDE (wonderingly). Why didn't I wake up when you kissed me? We are still here. The dream goes on. GERVASE. It is no dream, Melisande. Or if it is a dream, then in my dream I love you, and if we are awake, then awake I love you. I love you if this is Fairyland, and if there is no Fairyland, then my love will make a faery land of the world for you. For I love you, Melisande. MELISANDE (timidly). Are we pretending still? GERVASE. No, no, no! (She looks at him gravely for a moment and then nods her head.) MELISANDE (pointing). I live down there. You will come for me? GERVASE. I will come. MELISANDE. I am my lord's servant. I will wait for him. (She moves away from him. Then she curtsies and says) This afternoon, my lord. (She goes down the hill.) (He stands looking after her. While he is standing there, ERN comes through the trees with breakfast.) _ |
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