Chapter IV: Part 4

_Something in her tone makes Guenevere turn_.

GUENEVERE. (_kindly_) Why, Mary, what is the matter?

MARY. (_struggling with her sobs_) I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't help it--I wasn't going to say anything. But when you spoke to me--

GUENEVERE. (_quietly_) What is it, Mary?

MARY. I'm a wicked girl. (_She sobs again_.)

GUENEVERE. (_after a moment's reflection_.) Yes? Tell me about it.

MARY. Shall I tell you?

GUENEVERE. Yes. I think you'd better tell me.

MARY. I wanted to tell you. (_She comes to Guenevere, and sinks beside her chair_.) I wanted to tell you before Mr. Robinson came back. I couldn't tell you if he was here.

GUENEVERE. (_smiling_) My husband? Are you afraid of him, Mary?

MARY. Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. (_to herself_) Poor Arthur! He does frighten people. He looks so--just.

MARY. That's what it is, ma'am. He always makes me think of my father.

GUENEVERE. Is your father a just man, too, Mary?

MARY. Yes, ma'am. He's that just I'd never dare breathe a word to him about what I've done. He'd put me out of the house.

GUENEVERE. (_hesitating_) Is it so bad, Mary, what you have done?

MARY. Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. Do you--do you want to tell me who it is?

MARY. It's Mr. Jones, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. (_reflectively_) Jones? (_Then, astoundedly_)--Jones! (_Incredulously_)--You don't mean--! (_Quietly_)--Do you mean Mr. Lancelot Jones?

MARY. Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. This is terrible! When did it happen?

MARY. It--it sort of happened last night, ma'am. It was this way--

GUENEVERE. No details, please!

MARY. No, ma'am. I just wanted to tell you how it was. You see, ma'am, I went to his studio--

GUENEVERE. (_unable to bear it_) Please, Mary, please!

MARY. Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. I don't mean that I blame you. One can't help--falling in love....

MARY. No, you just can't help it, can you?

GUENEVERE. But Lancelot--Mr. Jones--should have behaved better than that....

MARY. Should he, ma'am?

GUENEVERE. He certainly should. I wouldn't have believed it of him. So that is why--Mary! Do you know--? But I'm not sure that I ought to tell you. Still, I don't see why I should protect _him_. Do you know that he is going away?

MARY. No, ma'am. Is he?

GUENEVERE. Yes. In the mo'rning. You must go to see him tonight. No, you can't do that....Oh, this is terrible!

MARY. I'm _glad_ he's going away, Mrs. Robinson.

GUENEVERE. Are you?

MARY. Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. Why?

MARY. Because I'd be so ashamed every time I saw him.

GUENEVERE. (_looking at her with interest_) Really? I didn't know people felt that way. Perhaps it's the right way to feel. But I didn't suppose anybody did. So you want him to go?

MARY. Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. And you don't feel you've any claim on him?

MARY. No, ma'am. Why should I?

GUENEVERE. Well! I really don't know. But one is supposed to. Mary, you _are_ a modern woman!

MARY. Am I?

GUENEVERE. One would think, after what happened--

MARY. That's just it, ma'am. If it had been anything else--But after what happened, I just want never to see him again. You see, ma'am, it was this way--

GUENEVERE. (_gently_) Is it necessary to tell me that, Mary? I know what happened.

MARY. But you don't, ma'am. That's just it. I've been trying to tell you what happened, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. Good heavens, was it so horrible! Well, go on, then. (_She nerves herself to hear the worst_.) What _did_ happen?

MARY. Nothing, ma'am....

GUENEVERE. Nothing?

MARY. That's just it....

GUENEVERE. But I--I don't understand.

MARY. You said a while ago, Mrs. Robinson, that you couldn't help falling in love. It's true. I tried every way to stop, but I couldn't. So last night I--I went to his studio--

GUENEVERE. Yes?

MARY. I told you I was a wicked girl, Mrs. Robinson. You know I've a key to let myself in to clean up for him. So last night I just went in. He--he was asleep--

GUENEVERE. Yes?

MARY. I--shall I tell you, ma'am?

GUENEVERE. Yes. You _must_ tell me, now.

MARY. And I--(_She sits kneeling, looking straight ahead, and continues speaking, in a dead voice_) I couldn't help it. I put my arms around him.

GUENEVERE. Yes?

MARY. And he put his arms around me, Mrs. Robinson, and kissed me. And I didn't care about anything else, then. I was glad. And then--

GUENEVERE. Yes?

MARY. And then he woke up--and he was angry at me. He swore at me. And then he laughed, and kissed me again, and put me out of the room.

GUENEVERE. Yes, yes. And that--that was all?

MARY. I came home. I thought I would have died. I knew I had been wicked. Oh, Mrs. Robinson--(_She breaks down and sobs_.)

GUENEVERE. (_patting her head_) Poor child, it's all right. You aren't so wicked as you think. Oh, I'm so glad!

MARY. But it's jest the same, Mrs. Robinson. I wanted to be wicked.

GUENEVERE. Never mind, Mary. We all want to be wicked at times. But something always happens. It's all right. You're a good girl, Mary. There, stop crying!... Of course, of course! I might have known. Lancelot couldn't--and yet, I wonder.... Mary, stand up and let me look at you!

MARY. (_obeying_) Yes, ma'am.

GUENEVERE. (_in a strange tone_) You're a very good-looking girl, Mary.... So he laughed, and gave you a kiss, and led you to the door!... Well! Go to bed and think no more about it. It's all right.

MARY. Do you really think so, Mrs. Robinson? Isn't it the same thing if you _want_ to be wicked--

GUENEVERE. You're talking like a professor of philosophy now, Mary. And you're a woman, and you ought to know better. No, it isn't the same thing, at all. Run along, child.

MARY. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Good night, ma'am.

_She goes_.

GUENEVERE. Good-night, Mary. (_She returns to her darning. She smiles to herself, then becomes serious, stops work, and looks at the clock. Then she says_)--Vivien! Vivien's tears! Poor Lancelot! Oh, well! (_She shrugs her shoulders, and goes on working. Then suddenly she puts down her work, rises, and walks restlessly about the room.... There is a knock at the door. She turns and stares at the door. The knock is repeated. She is silent, motionless for a moment. Then she says, almost in a whisper_)--Come!

_A young man enters_.

GUENEVERE. Lancelot!

LANCELOT. Guenevere! (_They go up to each other, and he takes both her hands. They stand that way for a moment. Then he says lightly_) --Darning King Arthur's socks, I see!

GUENEVERE. (_releasing herself, and going back to her chair_) Yes. Sit down.

LANCELOT. Where's his royal highness?

GUENEVERE. New York. Why don't you ever come to see us?

LANCELOT. (_not answering_) Charming domestic picture!

GUENEVERE. Don't be silly!

LANCELOT. I am going away.

GUENEVERE. Are you? I'm sorry. Don't you like our little village?

LANCELOT. Thought I'd stop in to say good-bye.

GUENEVERE. That's very sweet of you.

LANCELOT. (_rising_) I've got to go back and finish packing.

GUENEVERE. Not really?

LANCELOT. Going in the morning.

GUENEVERE. Why the haste? The summer's just begun. I hear you've been doing some awfully good things. I was going over to see them.

LANCELOT. Thanks. Sorry to disappoint you. But I've taken it into my head to leave.

GUENEVERE. You're not going tonight, anyway. Sit down and talk to me.

LANCELOT. All right. (_He sits, constrainedly_.) What shall I talk about?

GUENEVERE. (_smiling_) Your work.

LANCELOT. (_impatiently_) You're not interested in my work.

GUENEVERE. Your love-affairs, then.

LANCELOT. Don't want to.

GUENEVERE. Then read to me. There's some books on the table.

LANCELOT. (_opening a serious-looking magazine_) Here's an article on "The Concept of Happiness"--by Professor Arthur B. Robinson. Shall I read that?

GUENEVERE. I gather that you are not as fond of my husband as I am, Lancelot. But try to be nice to me, anyway. Read some poetry.

LANCELOT. (_takes a book from the table, and reads_)--

"It needs no maxims drawn from Socrates
To tell me this is madness in my blood--"

_He pauses. She looks up inquiringly. Presently he goes on reading--_

"Nor does what wisdom I have learned from these
Serve to abate my most unreasoned mood.
What would I of you? What gift could you bring,
That to await you in the common street
Sets all my secret ecstasy a-wing
Into wild regions of sublime retreat?
And if you come, you will speak common words--"

_He stops, and flings the book across the room. She looks up_.

GUENEVERE. Don't you like it?

LANCELOT. (_gloomily_) Hell! That's too true.

GUENEVERE. Try something else.

LANCELOT. No--I can't read. (_Guenevere bends to her darning_.) Shall I go?

GUENEVERE. No.

LANCELOT. Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?

GUENEVERE. Does talking to me make you suffer?

LANCELOT. Yes.

GUENEVERE. I'm sorry.

LANCELOT. Then let me go.

GUENEVERE. No. Sit there and talk to me, like a rational human being.

LANCELOT. I'm not a rational human being. I'm a fool. A crazy fool.

GUENEVERE. (_smiling at him_) I like crazy fools.

LANCELOT. (_desperately, rising as he speaks_) I am going to be married.

GUENEVERE. (_in a mocking simulation of surprise_) What, again?

LANCELOT. Yes--again--and as soon as possible--to Vivien.

GUENEVERE. I congratulate you.

LANCELOT. I _love_ her.

GUENEVERE. Naturally.

LANCELOT. _She_ loves _me_.

GUENEVERE. I trust so.

LANCELOT. Then _why_ should I be at this moment aching to kiss _you_? Tell me that?

GUENEVERE. (_looking at him calmly_) It does seem strange.

LANCELOT. It is absolutely insane! It's preposterous! It's contradictory!

GUENEVERE. Are you quite sure it's all true?

LANCELOT. Yes! I'm sure that I never would commit the rashness of matrimony again without being in love. Very much in love. And I'm equally sure that I would not stand here and tell you what a fool I am about you, if _that_ weren't true. Do you think I _want_ to be this way? It's too ridiculous--I didn't want to tell you. I wanted to go. You made me stay. Well, now you know what a blithering lunatic I am.

GUENEVERE. (_quietly_) It _is_ lunacy, isn't it?

LANCELOT. Is it?

GUENEVERE. Sheer lunacy. In love with one woman, and wanting to kiss another. Disgraceful, in fact.

LANCELOT. I know what you think! You think I'm paying you an extremely caddish compliment--or else--

GUENEVERE. (_earnestly, as she rises_) No, I don't think that at all, Lancelot. I believe you when you say that about me. And I don't imagine for one moment that you're not really in love with Vivien. I know you are. I could pretend to myself that you weren't--just as you've tried to pretend to yourself sometimes, that I'm not really in love with Arthur. But you know I am--don't you?

LANCELOT. Yes. ...

GUENEVERE. Well, Lancelot, there are--two lunatics here. (_He stares at her_.) It's almost funny. I don't know why I'm telling you. But--

LANCELOT. You--!

GUENEVERE. Yes. I want to kiss you, too.

LANCELOT. But this won't do. As long as there was only one of us--

GUENEVERE. There's been two all along, Lancelot. I've more self-control than you--that's all. But I broke down tonight. I knew I oughtn't to tell you--now. But I knew I would.

LANCELOT. You, too!

_They have unconsciously circled about to the opposite side of the room_.

GUENEVERE. Oh, well, Lance, I fancy we aren't the only ones. It's a common human failing, no doubt. Lots of people must feel this way.

LANCELOT. What do they do about it?

GUENEVERE. Well, it all depends on what kind of people they are. Some of them go ahead and kiss. Others think of the consequences.

LANCELOT. Well, let's think of the consequences, then. What are they? I forget.

GUENEVERE. I don't. I'm keeping them very clearly in mind. In the first place--

LANCELOT. Yes?

GUENEVERE. What was it? Yes--in the first place, we would be sorry. And in the second place--

LANCELOT. In the second place--

GUENEVERE. In the second place--I forget what's in the second place. But in the third place we mustn't. Isn't that enough?

LANCELOT. Yes. I know we mustn't. But--I feel that we are going to.

GUENEVERE. Please don't say that.

LANCELOT. But isn't it true? Don't you feel that, too?

GUENEVERE. Yes.

LANCELOT. Then we're lost.

GUENEVERE. No. We must think!

LANCELOT. I can't think.

GUENEVERE. Try.

LANCELOT. It's no use. I can't even remember "in the first place," now.

GUENEVERE. Then--before we do remember--!

_He takes her in his arms. They kiss each other--a long, long kiss_.

LANCELOT. Sweetheart!

GUENEVERE. (_holding him at arm's length_) That was in the second place, Lancelot. If we kiss each other, we'll begin saying things like that--and perhaps believing them.

LANCELOT. What did I say?

GUENEVERE. Something very foolish.

LANCELOT. What, darling?

GUENEVERE. There, you did it again. Stop, or I shall be doing it, too. I want to, you know.

LANCELOT. Want what?

GUENEVERE. To call you darling, and believe I'm in love with you.

LANCELOT. Aren't you?

GUENEVERE. I mustn't be.

LANCELOT. But aren't you?

GUENEVERE. Oh, I--(_She closes her eyes, and he draws her to him. Suddenly she frees herself_.) No! Lancelot--no! I'm not in love with you. And you're not in love with me. We're just two wicked people who want to kiss each other.

LANCELOT. Wicked? I don't feel wicked. Do you?

GUENEVERE. No. I just feel natural. But it's the same thing. (_He approaches her with outstretched arms. She retreats behind the chair_.) No, no. Remember that I'm married.

LANCELOT. I don't care.

GUENEVERE. Then remember that you're engaged!

LANCELOT. Engaged?

GUENEVERE. Yes: to Vivien.

LANCELOT. (_stopping short_) So I am.

GUENEVERE. And you're in love with her.

LANCELOT. That's true.

GUENEVERE. You see now that you can't kiss me, don't you?

LANCELOT (_dazedly_) Yes.

GUENEVERE. Then thank heavens! for I was about to let you. And that's in the fifth place, Lancelot: if we kiss each other once, we're sure to do it again and again--and again. Now go over there and sit down, and we'll talk sanely and sensibly.

LANCELOT. (_obeying_) Heavens, what a moment! I'm not over it yet.

GUENEVERE. Neither am I. We're a pair of sillies, aren't we? I never thought I should ever behave in such a fashion.

LANCELOT. It was my fault. I shouldn't have started it.

GUENEVERE. I am as much to blame as you.

LANCELOT. I'm sorry.

GUENEVERE. Are you?

LANCELOT. I ought to be. But I'm not, exactly.

GUENEVERE. I'm not either, I'm ashamed to say.

LANCELOT. The truth is, I want to kiss you again.

GUENEVERE. And I... But do you call this talking sensibly?

LANCELOT. I suppose it isn't. Well, go ahead with your sixth place, then. Only, for heaven's sake try and say something that will really do some good!

GUENEVERE. Very well, Lancelot. Do you really want to elope with me?

LANCELOT. Very much.

GUENEVERE. That's not the right answer. You know perfectly well you want to do nothing of the sort. What! Scandalize everybody, and ruin my reputation, and break Vivien's heart?

LANCELOT. No--I don't suppose I really want to do any of those things.

GUENEVERE. Then do you want us to conduct a secret and vulgar intrigue?

LANCELOT. (_hurt_) Guenevere!

GUENEVERE. You realize, of course, that this madness of ours might last no longer than a month?

LANCELOT. (_soberly_) Perhaps.

GUENEVERE. Well, do you still want to kiss me?--Think what you are saying, Lancelot, for I may let you. And that kiss may be the beginning of the catastrophe. (_She moves toward him_.) Do you want a kiss that brings with it grief and fear and danger and heartbreak?

LANCELOT. No--

GUENEVERE. Then what do you want?

LANCELOT. I want--a kiss.

GUENEVERE. Never. If you had believed, for one your chance.

LANCELOT. Kiss me!

GUENEVERE. Never. If you had believed, for one moment, that it _was_ worth the price of grief and heartbreak, I should have believed it too, and kissed you, and not cared what happened. I should have risked the love of my husband and the happiness of your sweetheart without a qualm. And who knows? It might have been worth it. An hour from now I shall be sure it wasn't; I shall be sure it was all blind, wicked folly. But now I am a little sorry. I wanted to gamble with fate. I wanted us to stake our two lives recklessly upon a kiss--and see what happened. And you couldn't. It wasn't a moment of beauty and terror to you. You didn't want to challenge fate. You just wanted to kiss me.... Go!

LANCELOT. (_turning on her bitterly_) You women! Because you are afraid, you accuse us of being cowards.

GUENEVERE. What do you mean?

LANCELOT. (_brutally_) You! You want a love-affair. Your common sense tells you it's folly. Your reason won't allow it. So you want your common sense to be overwhelmed, your reason lost. You want to be swept off your, feet. You want to be _made_ to do something you don't approve of. You want to be wicked, and you want it to be some one else's fault. Tell me--isn't it true?

GUENEVERE. Yes, it is true--except for one thing, Lancelot. It's true that I wanted you to sweep me off my feet, to make me forget everything; it was wrong, it was foolish of me to want it, but I did. Only if you had done it, you wouldn't have been "to blame." I should have loved you for ever because you could do it. And now, because you couldn't I despise you. Now you know. ... Go.

LANCELOT. No, Guenevere, you don't despise me. You're angry with me and angry with yourself because you couldn't quite forget King Arthur. You are blaming me and I am blaming you, isn't it amusing?

GUENEVERE. You are right, Lancelot. It's my fault. Oh, I envy women who can dare to make fools of themselves who forget everything and don't care what they do! I suppose that's love--and I'm not up to it.

LANCELOT. You are different....

GUENEVERE. Different? Yes, I'm a coward. I'm not primitive enough. Despise me. You've a right to. And--please go.

LANCELOT. I'm afraid I'm not very primitive either, Gwen. I--

GUENEVERE. I'm afraid you're not, Lance. That's the trouble with us. We're civilized. Hopelessly civilized. We had a spark of the old barbaric flame--but it went out. We put it out--quenched it with conversation. No, Lancelot, we've talked our hour away. It's time for you to pack up. Good-bye. (_He kisses her hand lingeringly_.) You may kiss my lips if you like. There's not the slightest danger. We were unnecessarily alarmed about ourselves. We couldn't misbehave! ... Going?

LANCELOT. Damn you! Good-bye!

_He goes_.

GUENEVERE. Well, _that_ did it. If he had stayed a moment longer--!

_She flings up her arms in a wild gesture--then recovers herself, and goes to her chair, where she sits down and quietly resumes the darning of her husband's socks_.

THE RIM OF THE WORLD

A FANTASY

To MARJORIE JONES

"The Rim of the World" was first produced by the Liberal Club, New York City, at Webster Hall, in 1915, with the following cast:

The Maid ......... Jo Gotsch The Gypsy ........ Floyd Dell The King.......... Edward Goodman The Princess...... Marjorie Jones

_Morning. A room in a palace, opening on a balcony. Through the arched broad window at the back is seen the sky, just beginning to be suffused with the rosy streakings of dawn. A large, wide heavy seat stands on a dais, with a low square stool beside it. A girl kneels on the stool, with her head and arms on the chair, dozing.

The dark figure of a man appears on the balcony. He puts a leg over the window-ledge and climbs in slowly.

A little noise wakes the girl. She stirs, looks round, jumps up, and starts to scream_.

THE MAN. Oh, not so loud!

THE GIRL. (_finishes the scream in a subdued voice_.)

THE MAN. That's better! But you ought to be more careful. You might wake somebody up.

THE GIRL. Who are you?

THE MAN. That's just what I was about to ask you--tell me, are you a Princess, or a maidservant?

THE GIRL. A Princess?--did you really think I might be a Princess?

THE MAN. Well, there are pretty Princesses. But I had rather you were a maidservant.

THE GIRL. Would you? Well, so I am!

THE MAN. Thank you, my dear. And what would you like me to be?

THE MAID. I'm afraid you're somebody not quite proper!

THE MAN. Right, my dear. You are a person of marvellous discernment. I am, in fact--

THE MAID. The king of the Gypsies!

THE GYPSY. How did you know?

THE GIRL. I guessed it!

THE GYPSY. H'm. You knew, I suppose, that our band has just encamped outside the city?

THE MAID. Yes.

THE GYPSY. And you have heard of the exploits of the Gypsy king. You know that there is no wall high enough to keep him out, no force of soldiers strong enough--

THE MAID. I know it by your eyes. They have the gypsy look in them.

THE GYPSY. Where have you ever seen gypsies before?

THE MAID. Never mind. But tell me--the wall around the palace is seventeen feet high--

THE GYPSY. True enough!

THE MAID. A guard of soldiers continually marches around it--

THE GYPSY. Very true!

THE MAID. And there are spikes on the top. How did you get over?

THE GYPSY. That is my secret. Would I be the gypsy king if everybody knew what I know?

THE MAID. Won't you tell _me_?

THE GYPSY. Women have asked me that many times. But I never tell. But, though I won't tell you how I entered, I don't mind telling you _why_.

THE MAID. Oh, I know that already!

THE GYPSY. You think, perhaps, that I am a thief as well as a housebreaker--that it is in the hope of royal treasure left unguarded that I have come here. ...

THE MAID. You have come here because you took a fancy to see what was on the other side of the wall. Isn't that it?

THE GYPSY. At last I have found some one in this stupid city who understands me. Young woman--

THE MAID. Yes?

THE GYPSY. You do not belong here. There is no one here who does things because they are foolish and interesting. Would you like to come away with me?

THE MAID. Oh, no. You must not think, because I understand you, that I approve of you. You see--

THE GYPSY. You don't approve of me?

THE MAID. No--but I like you. I can't help it. I always did like Gypsies. You see, I was brought up among them.

THE GYPSY. You a Gypsy child!

THE MAID. I suppose I was. Though I always preferred to imagine that I was some Princess that had been changed in the cradle and stolen away. When I was hardly more than a baby, I remember that I disapproved of their rough ways. I can still faintly remember the jolting of the wagons that kept me awake, and the smell of the soup in the big kettle over the fire.

THE GYPSY. It is a good smell.

THE MAID. But I did not think so! It smelled of garlic. And when I was six years old, I ran away. The tribe had encamped just outside the city here, and I wandered away from the tents, and entered the city-gate, and hid myself, and at night I came straight to the palace. The soldiers found me, and took me to the old king. He said that I should be the child of the palace. So they gave me white bread with butter on it, and put me to sleep between smooth white sheets.

THE GYPSY. Gypsy children cannot thrive when they are taken into cities. They turn away from white bread with butter on it, and remembering the good smell of the soup in the big kettle over the fire, they fall sick with hunger. As for you--

THE MAID. I thrived on the white bread with butter on it.

THE GYPSY. You were a little renegade. But I forgive you! And now to my business, I have come to see the King, and talk with him. We kings should become better acquainted, don't you think? I will ask him what he considers the proper price for telling fortunes, and find out what his ideas are on the subject of horse-trading. And no doubt he will ask me what I think about his coming marriage with the Princess of Basque. She is to arrive to-night, I believe, and be married tomorrow, to this King whom she has never seen!

THE MAID. Be careful, or you will awaken him. That is his bed-chamber, there.

THE GYPSY. Ah! Is he a light sleeper?

THE MAID. The King sleeps soundly, and awakens punctually every morning at six.

THE GYPSY. (_with a glance at the sky_) It is not quite six. Every morning, you say? And what then?

THE MAID. He goes for a walk at seven, and breakfasts at eight. Every morning.

THE GYPSY. Regularly?

THE MAID. The King is always on time to the moment.

THE GYPSY. Ah, one of those clockwork kings!

THE MAID. You must not make fun of him. He is a good king.

THE GYPSY. I have no doubt of it. And his regularity will be a great comfort to his queen. She will always know that she will get her kiss regularly, punctually, on the stroke of the clock. But--you say the King rises at six, and goes for a walk at seven. What does he do in the meantime?

THE MAID. First he comes here and has his morning drink. Then he is dressed for his walk.

THE GYPSY. And what is your part in these solemn proceedings?

THE MAID. I tie his slippers for him, and pour his drink.

THE GYPSY. It is a great honour! So great an honour that you come here before the sun is up to be ready for your duties. Do you entertain the King with conversation while he takes his morning drink?

THE MAID. No--the Gazetteer does that.

THE GYPSY. The Gazetteer--what is the Gazetteer?

THE MAID. The Gazetteer is a man whose duty it is to find out all that happens in the city each day, and recite it to the King the next morning.

THE GYPSY. Has the King as much curiosity as that? I would never have thought it.

THE MAID. It isn't curiosity. It's just a custom that has sprung up. All the merchants and well-to-do people hire a Gazetteer. It may be useful to them--but I think the King regards it more as a duty than a pleasure.

THE GYPSY. I remember now. They have something like it in the taverns. I foresee a great future for it....

THE MAID. And it seems to go with that new drink.

THE GYPSY. What new drink?

THE MAID. Why, the new drink from Arabia. It has a queer name. Ka-Fe.

THE GYPSY. Ka-Fe--and what is it like?

THE MAID. It is dark, and served hot with sugar and cream.

THE GYPSY. It sounds interesting. I would like to taste it. What is it most like--mead, perhaps, or wine, or that strong liquor distilled from juniper berries?

THE MAID. Like none of these. It does not make men talk and sing and tell their secrets and reveal their love and their hate, and knock their heads against the stars and tangle their feet one with the other....

THE GYPSY. Then what is the good of it?

THE MAID. It makes the head clearer, and sobers the judgment. It makes men think more and talk less. And it gives them strength to rule their inward feelings.

THE GYPSY. What a pity! People are too much like that as it is.

THE MAID. The King says that some time the whole world will learn to drink it!

THE GYPSY. A world of Ka-Fe drinkers! A world where people rule their inward feelings and hide their secret thoughts! I shall be dead before then, thank heaven!

THE MAID. But you keep your secrets--even from women--so you say.

THE GYPSY. It was a vain boast. Sometime, with my head in a woman's lap, I shall blab away the secrets that give me power. I know it. Somewhere in the world is a woman whose look will intoxicate me more than wine. And for her sake I shall invent some new folly.

THE MAID. What a pity!

THE GYPSY. No--the thought cheers me. So long as there are women, men will be fools. Their Ka-Fe will not help them.

THE MAID. Do you approve of folly, then?

THE GYPSY. It is the thing that makes life worth living. I have committed every kind of folly I know, and the world would be dull and empty if I did not think that some new and greater folly lay ahead.

THE MAID. You think, then, that one should surrender oneself to folly?

THE GYPSY. I think so truly. What have you on the tip of your tongue? What folly have you given yourself to, my child?

THE MAID. I am afraid you will laugh at me. ...

THE GYPSY. Not I. Tell me, my dear, are you in love?

THE MAID. Yes....

THE GYPSY. With some one who will never give you love in return?

THE MAID. Yes. ...

THE GYPSY. And is it--?

THE MAID. The King--yes. Oh, I am a fool to tell you!

_She hides her face in her hands_.

THE GYPSY. Listen, my child. You are not more a fool than I. The other day I rode out on a swift horse to be by myself under the sky, and think my thoughts. And there, a two days' journey from this city, I saw the slow-moving caravan of the Princess of Basque, on her way to wed this King whom she has never seen. Curiosity drew me near, for I wanted to see the face of the Princess. I tied my horse to a tree, and hid among the bushes by the road-side as they passed. I saw her among the cushions of the royal wagon. She had a strange, wild beauty. I saw her, and loved her, and grew sick with loneliness. I rode back to the city, and tried to wash out the memory of that face with wine. But it was no use, so I left the tavern and climbed the wall and entered the palace, that I might look also at the man whom she is to wed. When I have seen him, then I shall--I don't know what. But--we are two foolish ones, you and I!

THE MAID. Thank you for telling me that. But you must go now. It is almost time for the King to come.

THE GYPSY. What if he found me here--what would he do? Have me beheaded, or merely thrown into prison?

THE MAID. No--he is a kind king. He would only tell you how wrong it is to break into people's houses and show disrespect for the law.

THE GYPSY. I had almost rather be put in prison than lectured at. Well, I must invent something to explain my presence. (_There is a knock_.) Who is that?

THE MAID. Hide yourself. I will see.

THE GYSPY. (_from behind the curtains of the window_) I am hidden.

_The maid goes to the door, and comes back with a paper in her hand_.

THE GYPSY. Well?

THE MAID. (_looking at the paper_) The Gazetteer is ill, and cannot come.

THE GYPSY. (_emerging from the curtains_) The Gazetteer is ill....

THE MAID. The King will be annoyed.

THE GYPSY. We will spare his majesty that annoyance. I shall be the King's Gazetteer this morning!

THE MAID. But how can you?

THE GYPSY. Leave that to me. (_He takes his position behind the curtains_.) Such news as he has never heard, I shall recite to the King!

THE MAID. Ssh! Here he comes now!

_The King enters, in his dressing gown, yawning, with his hand over his mouth. In the midst of his yawn, he speaks_.

THE KING. Goo' mo'ing!

THE MAID. (_bowing_) Good morning, your majesty!

THE KING. (_glancing out at the morning sky_) Looks like a nice day today. (_He sits down_.)

THE GYPSY. (_from slightly behind the King's seat_) Not a cloud in your majesty's sky!

THE KING. (_twisting about to look at him_) And who the devil are you?

THE GYPSY. (_coming around in front and bowing_) I am the Gazetteer.

THE KING. (_sputtering_) What are you trying to palm off on me? You are not my Gazetteer! My Gazetteer is decently dressed in black and white. You come here in red and yellow. What does it mean?

THE MAID. Your majesty, your own Gazetteer is ill and cannot come, so he has sent his cousin, who is in the same business.

THE KING. (_disgustedly_) Bring me my Ka-Fe. (_The maid goes out_.) Now tell me, sirrah, you don't mean to say that you are used by respectable people as a source of information? I cannot believe it!

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, it would ill become me to deprecate the character of my clientele. They may not be rich, they may not be influential, but they are the foundation of your kingdom's prosperity. And I must say for myself that for the one person that your Gazetteer serves, I serve many. You may sneer at my quality if you like, but I point to my circulation. I am the official Gazetteer of the Red-Horse Tavern, and scores of petty tradesmen, as well as clerks, bricklayers and truck drivers, depend upon me for their knowledge of the world's events.

THE KING. Well, well! So you are in your humble way an agency of civilization!

THE GYPSY. Your majesty may well say so!

_The maid has returned with the Ka-Fe. She puts the tray on the floor beside the seat, and kneels by it. The King's cup she places on the stool at his hand_.

THE KING. (_sipping his Ka-Fe_) Very well. Proceed.

THE GYPSY. (_reciting_) This is the story of a crime! The shop of the widow Solomon stands in the middle of the great street which takes its name from our King--may he live long and prosper! In that shop are displayed for sale diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones, set in rings and chains curiously wrought of silver and gold. And there yesterday came a band of robbers--not in the night, when all men are asleep, and even the watch-dog dozes beside the door-- but in the glare of day, intent on wickedness. They entered the shop, and with the threat of death stopped up the mouths of the servitors. Then they filled a large sack with their precious booty, and escaped. They have not been apprehended. This is the sixth in the series of daring daylight robberies that has occurred within the month. The failure of the police to deal with this situation has provoked widespread comment on the incompetency of the King's Chief of Police, and there are some who assert that the police are in league with the robbers. The magnificent new house which the Chief of Police has been erecting, ostensibly with the money left him by a rich aunt of whom nobody ever heard, seems to lend colour to these--

THE KING. What! What! What's this? Why, I never heard such impudence! Fellow, do you mean to tell me--

_He becomes speechless, and sets down his Ka-Fe_.

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, I have especially softened the wording of this piece of news in order not to offend your majesty's ears. But in substance that is the story which was told last night at every tavern in the city.

THE KING. But, sirrah, I cannot permit--I simply cannot permit--why-- why--!

THE GYPSY. Suppose, your majesty, we skip the police news, and go on to gentler themes.

THE KING. That would be better--much better.

THE GYPSY. Shall we take up--politics?

THE KING. (_wearily_) Oh, yes.

THE GYPSY. (_reciting_) A debate between the rival factions who seek to influence the governing of our kingdom through the so-called Council of Peers was held last night outdoors in the public market. The rival orators exceeded one another in dullness and hoarseness. The attendance was very slight. The general public takes little interest in these proceedings, knowing as it does that they are merely a diversion for the scions of old families whose energies are unemployed except in time of war. It is the general feeling, moreover, that the King may be depended upon to govern the kingdom properly without the interference of these aristocratic meddlers.

THE KING. Ah, splendid, splendid! Let us hear that again!

THE GYPSY. A debate between the rival factions--

THE KING. No, no--the last part. That about meddling.

THE GYPSY. It is the general feeling, moreover, that the King may be depended upon to govern the kingdom properly--

THE KING. Without interference from these aristocratic meddlers. Yes, yes! Those are my sentiments exactly. How well put that is--without interference! Ah, it shows that I am appreciated among the lower classes. They understand me. What did you say they were? Petty tradesmen and clerks and bricklayers?

THE GYPSY. And truck drivers, your majesty.

THE KING. And truck drivers. Splendid fellows, all of them. As you said--the backbone of my king-dom. I must appoint a royal commission to investigate the welfare of the truck drivers. The Council of Peers will object--but I shall ignore them. Broken-down aristocrats! what do they know about governing a kingdom? They are useful only in war-time. Fighting is their only talent. In times of peace they are a nuisance. I shall not let them come between me and my people. ... (_He rises, and with a dignified oratorical gesture addresses an imaginary audience_)--Tradesmen! Clerks! Truck drivers! The time has come-- (_He pauses, frowns, and sits down again_.) Never mind that now. Go on with the news.

THE GYSPY. The rest of the political news is uninteresting, your majesty.

THE KING. It usually is. This is the first time it has ever been otherwise. Turn to something else.

THE GYPSY. I will turn to the society items, your majesty.

THE KING. Good.

THE GYPSY. (_reciting_) All tongues are discussing the approaching nuptials of the King and the Princess of--

THE KING. Tut! tut! I fear this is not a proper topic for--

THE GYPSY. It is a matter of interest to all your subjects, your majesty.

THE KING. Well, well--go on. A public figure like myself must submit to having his private affairs discussed. It is unfortunate, but--go on.

THE GYPSY. (_reciting_)--the approaching nuptials of the King and the Princess of Basque. The details of the royal bride's trousseau are already well known to the public, down to the last garter. The six embroidered chemises from Astrakhan--

_The maid shows great interest. The King is embarrassed_.

THE KING. But, my dear fellow--really, you know--! This is--!

THE GYPSY. Items of this nature, your majesty, are recited in the bazaar to audiences composed exclusively of women. Under the circumstances there is surely no impropriety--

THE KING. Very well. I accept your explanation. But as your present audience is not composed exclusively of women, I suggest that you omit those details.

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, I omit them. The account continues.... (_Reciting_) The marriage has excellent reasons of state for being made, inasmuch as it cements in friendship two kingdoms which have been at war with each other off and on for a hundred years. But it has its romantic side as well. It is, in fact, a love-match. The fact that the royal lovers have never seen each other only emphasizes its romantic quality. Their joy in beholding in actuality what they have for three long months cherished so dearly in imagination, is a theme for the poet laureate--who will, however, we fear, judging from his past performances, hardly do it justice. It is, as we have said, a love- match. The royal pair fell in love with what they had heard of each other--the Princess of Basque with the image she had formed in her mind from glowing reports of the King's valour, amounting to rashness, his fluency of poetic speech, his manly bearing, and his irrepressible wit.... (_The King nods gravely at each item_.) While the King became madly enamoured of the reputation of the Princess of Basque for sweetness, industry in good works, and the docility which befits a wife, even of a King.... (_The King nods gravely at these items also_.) She is, indeed, a pattern of all the domestic virtues--she is quiet, obedient, dignified--

_There is a cry in a high feminine voice, outside. All look toward the window. A girl appears, running past, with short loose hair tossing about her face. She pauses, and flings herself over the window-ledge, and is standing--panting, red-cheeked, smiling--in the room. The King rises_.

THE KING. (_furious, yet coldly polite_) And who, in the name of the sacred traditions of womanhood, are you?

THE FIGURE. I--I am the Princess of Basque!

_They stare at her_.

* * * * *

_Mid-day. Yellow curtains have been drawn across the broad window. On the wide seat, the King, dressed in purple robes, sits with head bowed in thought.... There is a noise of shouting outside. The King looks up_.

THE KING. (_sadly_) There it is again.

THE GYPSY. (_entering_) Your majesty--

THE KING. You? What are you doing here?

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, the palace is in a turmoil. The attendants are helping the soldiers keep order among the crowd in the courtyard--the gentlemen-in-waiting are receiving deputations with wedding presents-- the women are distributing medals bearing the image of the bride. All the city is celebrating her unexpected arrival, and rejoicing with you in your presumed happiness. In this disturbed state of affairs, _I_ have been drafted into your majesty's service, and come to bring you a message.

THE KING. (_bitterly_) I hoped I would never see you again. It all began with you. If I were a superstitious person I would say you brought misfortune with you into this house. Before you came this morning, everything was as it had always been--orderly and regular. What is your message? That madwoman has not escaped, has she?

THE GYPSY. The young woman who calls herself the Princess of Basque is safe under lock and key, according to your majesty's orders.

THE KING. Is she well guarded?

THE GYPSY. The soldier who conducted her from the room this morning is keeping guard at the door, your majesty. I recognized him by the black eye she gave him.

THE KING. Good. What is your news?

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, I am bidden to tell you that the Royal Archivist, whom you bade to search through the histories of your royal ancestors for some precedent to guide you in this matter, has locked himself with his forty assistants in the royal library, and cannot be roused by knocking.

THE KING. They have fallen asleep among the archives.... What else?

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, the Royal Physician has been summoned, according to your orders, to examine the young woman as to her sanity. But she refuses to answer all questions, asserting that she is in a state of abounding health, and is in no need of the services of a physician.

THE KING. How can we prove her mad if she will not answer questions!

THE GYPSY. Further, I am bidden to tell you that the watchman on the tower has seen two horsemen in the far distance galloping toward the city. They come by the eastern road, and it is believed that they are couriers from the King of Basque.

THE KING. This matter must be settled before they arrive. Is there anything else?

THE GYPSY. Yes, your majesty. The Eldest of the Wise Men has come here in answer to your summons.

THE KING. Bring him in. And do you remain here in attendance.

THE GYPSY. Yes, your majesty.

_He goes to the door_.

THE KING. This would never have happened to my ancestors. Not to Otho, nor Magnus, nor Carolus, nor Gavaine. Am I less than these? Perhaps I am, but the same blood flows in my veins, and while it flows I shall rule as they ruled.

_The Gypsy ushers in the Eldest of the Wise Men_.

THE WISE MAN. Your majesty--

THE KING. I have sent for you, O Eldest of the Wise Men, in an hour of extreme perplexity. Not lightly would I have torn you from your meditations. I have need of your wisdom.

THE WISE MAN. Whatever your majesty wishes to know, I shall answer out of the fulness of knowledge born of long study and deep reflection. Speak, O King! Is it of Infinity that you would ask? or of Eternity?-- or of the Absolute?

THE KING. Nothing so simple. I want to know what to do with a madwoman who climbed in at my window an hour since, asserting herself to be the daughter of the King of Basque, and my affianced bride--and with a misguided populace which insists upon celebrating my alleged happiness. (_The tumult is heard outside, this time with a harsh note in it. The King starts, turning to the Gypsy_.) Is _that_ a sound of rejoicing?

THE GYPSY. No, your majesty. That sound means that the rumour has just spread among them that the Princess of Basque has been falsely imprisoned in the palace. They are calling for blood.

THE KING. What! An uprising against me?

THE GYPSY. Not at all, your majesty. They hold your majesty blameless. They believe that you have been deceived by the false counsel of the Eldest of the Wise Men. It is his blood they are calling for.

THE KING. (_to the Eldest of the Wise Men_) There you have it! That, as some one has admirably phrased it, is the situation in a nutshell. What shall we do?

THE WISE MAN. (_stupefied_) But your majesty--!

THE KING. Your advice--what is it? Come, be quick. Out of your wisdom, born of long study and deep reflection, speak the word that shall set this jangled chaos in order once more.

THE WISE MAN. Your majesty, I am afraid I do not understand these things. If you had asked me about the Absolute--

THE KING. There is no Absolute any more! The Absolute has been missing from this kingdom--and for all I know, from the Universe--since half- past six o'clock this morning. No one regrets its absence more than I. There can be no comfort, no peace, no order, without an Absolute. But we must face the facts. The Absolute is gone, and this kingdom will be without one until I restore it with my own hands. I shall set about doing so immediately. And meanwhile, old man, you had better seek some safe corner where my misguided populace cannot lay hands on you.

THE WISE MAN. Your majesty--

THE KING. Go. We have business to attend to. (_The Eldest of the Wise Men goes out_.) And now, you sharp-nosed scoundrel, I want some of _your_ advice! When the roof of the world has fallen in, there are no precedents, wisdom is worthless, and the opinion of one man is as good as that of another,--if not better. So what have you to suggest?

THE GYPSY. Your majesty, before I make my suggestion, let me confess to you that I had underrated the force of your majesty's personality. Not until this moment have I understood that you possess the qualities of kingship as well as the title of king.

THE KING. Well, what of that?

THE GYPSY. This, your majesty. There is only one man in your kingdom who can cope with this girl whom you call mad. Your servants cannot do it. As I passed by the room where she is imprisoned, I heard the soldier whose eye she blacked talking to her. He was saying that it was a great honour to have had a black eye from her hands, and he was begging her autograph. If she had desired to escape, she could have done so--he is her devoted slave. And the doctor who went to examine her as to her sanity has stayed to talk to her about horse-breaking. That, as you know, is his avocation; and he has found in her a woman who knows more about it than he does. He sits there like a man entranced. They are all putty in her hands.

THE KING. (_impatiently_) Get to the point.

THE GYPSY. I have said that there is only one man in the kingdom who can cope with her. And that man is your majesty's self.

THE KING. I?

THE GYPSY. Yes--you must go to her yourself.

THE KING. There's an idea. But what am I to do then?

THE GYPSY. Talk to her, make her your friend. Coax her secret out of her, and you will find that she is some madcap actress from a travelling company of mountebanks, who has done this thing in order to have the story told by the gazetteers and bring people to look at her. Get her to confess, and then let her story spread among the crowd--and the whole uprising that is now taxing the resources of the palace guard will dissolve in a burst of laughter.

THE KING. I will do it. If it is not a kingly duty, I shall at least accomplish it in a kingly manner. Thank you, my friend. But what is this?

THE MAID. (_entering_) Your majesty--

THE KING. Speak. What is it?

THE MAID. Two couriers from the King of Basque have arrived on foam- flecked horses, and ask to see you instantly.

THE KING. Let them wait. I have other affairs in hand. Send them here on the stroke of noon. (_To the Gypsy_) Your explanation may be the correct one. But my own opinion is that she is mad. Whatever it is, I shall soon have the truth.

THE GYPSY. May the fortune of kings attend you!

_The King goes out. The Gypsy and the maid seat themselves idly on the edge of the dais_.

THE MAID. Poor woman! No doubt she went mad with love of the King, until she imagined herself to be his bride. I can understand that! Poor woman!

THE GYPSY. I am almost sorry for him.

THE MAID. Sorry for _him_? You mean, for _her_!

THE GYPSY. The Princess of Basque needs none to be sorry for her. She can take care of herself--as she proved on the eye of the soldier who locked her up.

THE MAID. Then you believe it? That she _is_ the Princess of Basque?

THE GYPSY. I know it. Have I not seen her face?

THE MAID. Then why did you not speak up?

THE GYPSY. Who am I, to interfere in the prenuptial courtesies of a royal pair? Besides, it will give her an insight into the character of her future husband.

THE MAID. You are very unjust to the King, to say that. He is not unkind. He only had her locked up because he thought her demented.

THE GYPSY. Precisely. Oh, she is not one to mind a little rough handling. She gives as good as she gets. She will not hold that against him. But that he should think her mad because she came unattended, at an unexpected hour, with flushed cheeks and laughing lips to meet her lover--!

THE MAID. Because she came climbing in at the window like a madwoman!

THE GYPSY. You think as the King does. For you there are no ways but the way to which you are accustomed. That is sanity to you, and all else is madness. You have a map of life which is like your maps of the world--with all the safe known places marked by their familiar names, and outside you have drawn childish pictures of fabulous beasts, and written, "This is a desert." But I tell you I have gone into these deserts, and found good green grass there, and sweet spring water, and delightful fruits. And beyond them I have seen great mountains and stormy seas.... And I shall go back some day, and cross those mountains and those seas, and find what lies beyond.

THE MAID. Yes, it must be interesting to travel.

THE GYPSY. (_brought down to earth_) Forgive me, child. Do you know, you are very like the King. That is just what he would have said.

THE MAID (_pleased_) Is it?

THE GYPSY. Word for word. You are the feminine counterpart of your ruler. What a pity you cannot help him manage his kingdom!

THE MAID. Hush! Here he comes now! And she is with him!

_They rise respectfully. The King enters, followed by the Princess of Basque_.

THE KING. We can conduct our conversation better in here. (_To the others_) Leave us.

THE GYPSY. Yes, your majesty.

_They go out_.

THE KING. Pray be seated, madam.

THE PRINCESS. In your majesty's presence?

THE KING. I will sit down too. We will sit here together. It is unconventional, but--there is no one to see. Please!

_He takes her by the hand and conducts her up the dais to the wide seat. He seats himself beside her_.

THE PRINCESS. It is very kind of your majesty to give so much of your time to a troublesome girl.