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diff --git a/78148-0.txt b/78148-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3d9988 --- /dev/null +++ b/78148-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,623 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78148 *** + + + + +Transcriber’s note + +Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation +inconsistencies have been silently repaired. Formatting and special +characters are indicated as follows: + + _italic_ + + + + + SHAKESPEARE’S + DAUGHTERS + + A Fantasy in One Scene + + BY + GEORGE HENRY TRADER + + + COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY SAMUEL FRENCH + + NEW YORK + SAMUEL FRENCH + PUBLISHER + 25 WEST 45TH STREET + + LONDON + SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD. + 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET + STRAND + + + + +SHAKESPEARE’S DAUGHTERS. + + +_Being a fantasy, in one scene (a glade in which appear as many of +Shakespeare’s female characters as practicable. It may be noted with +regret, that they have been associating with the ordinary, their +tongues no longer distributing the grace and wisdom they uttered when +at home)._ + +OPHELIA + +_Is found seated, unhappy, with a packet of letters tied with a ribbon. +She may be well to the front of the picture to the players’ left hand._ + +CORDELIA + +_May be found to the right hand of the players, but much in the +background. She is disconsolate beyond measure and does not appear to +be aware that there are other characters present._ + +ROSALIND, PORTIA, VIOLA, IMOGEN + +_Are generally seen near the centre of the picture; they are at present +discussing a weighty matter with avidity, as follows:--_ + +IMOGEN. For me? I would endure such shame twice told for one I love. + +ROSALIND. Ay, it would take more than wearing of doublet and hose to +give my cheek the blush. + +PORTIA. In tender questions, pride will ofttimes drown kind modesty +with satisfaction in one’s seeming. + +Looked we in truth’s mirror our blush would be no flush but one +continued fever, so frequent do we err in our deportment. For myself, +if occasion should demand that I inhabit my person as a man, I would +assume the guise of one who wears a gown or cowl or ample cloak: thus +may our sex while feigning man, retain their modesty. + +VIOLA. Dear Portia, were you a man in truth, you’d soon turn judge. + +IMOGEN. No cowl nor ample cloak for her but gown I’ll warrant. For, +secret, hark, it was, but yesterday I spied a weighty tome of Venice +law bear down her lap. + +ROSALIND. What color gown? That’s _first_ determined is it not? + +PORTIA. So? Indeed! ’Twere worthier fondling books upon my lap than the +senseless men I’ve seen upon the knees of Rosalinda here. + +IMOGEN. Men! + +VIOLA. Upon her knees! + +ROSALIND. It is not true. + +PORTIA. Their voices more tuneful, than in some men I have heard, +in--that they were silent; their manners more gentler, in--that they +were still; their dress of highest design, for they were modes of +fashion, with that added virtue, that they could be put easily aside, +being but on paper. + +IMOGEN. Only pictures, penned and painted? + +PORTIA. Ay, but of _men_, mark you, not girls, nor flowers, nor sheep; +but men, whose outlines she scanned with eye of starveling. + +VIOLA. She determined then from _fashion’s_ whim, that long hose and +jacket were wisest wear for women bent on playing man? + +PORTIA. Our Rosie scorned the fashions. She did not so decide. + +ROSALIND. Did not? What was my measure then? + +PORTIA. You give me leave to speak? + +ROSALIND. Judge on, oh lady-judge, we hunger for thy wisdom. + +PORTIA. If I am too bold, Viola and Imogen silence me. But listen +thirstily to my reasons. Our Rosalind here hath no present need to mask +in man’s attire; _why_ then should she desire to don it? Because, odds +paticakes, she hath discovered it doth become her. One morning early +risen, she observed herself upon the sunlit wall and her shadow did +beguile her. Thence, I see, she is determined that the occasion shall +appear. For “why” sighs she, “should a proper ankle waste, for always, +its outline in the darkness of a skirt.” + +VIOLA. Well? well? well? If this indeed be true of Rosalind, is her +reasoning then immodest? + +IMOGEN. If of the garb one is not conscious, that itself is answer. + +PORTIA. Ho, ho! You sing in tune! Are well poised ankles so plenty that +they crowd forth to be basked on? + +ROSALIND. Not too plenteous, Portia, for we do know a maid, who, if +occasion opportuned her to play in man’s attire, would choose to hide +her in “gown or cowl or ample cloak.” No, no, a comedy face is no +guarantor for a dainty limb, they stand not on every corner. + +PORTIA. Alone, they are a weak possession, a pointed ankle often bears +a dull wit. + +ROSALIND. They bear enough to trip the wit of many men. + +ROSALIND. A truce about men, say I, whose giddy sight is hindrance to +their reason. + +IMOGEN. So say we all of us. + +VIOLA. Here comes one whose youthful skirt our question puts to flight. + +_Enter_ JULIET _from their right_ + +IMOGEN. Why so breathless, Julietta? + +JULIET. I am come to tell you, I am no longer a child. I have bade +farewell to all my dolls. Soon there’ll be for me, one whom I, like +you, may name “my own dear lord.” No longer will your secrets be too +grown for me to share. + +PORTIA. Why then confide to us the charm, that brings to blossom thus +suddenly the youngest of our buds. + +JULIET. In twenty days, my mother gives a wondrous ball, to which will +come all the gallants of our house of Capulet. + +ROSALIND. And know you who are named? + +JULIET. None but one I know already, the County Paris. I would you all +were bidden. + +VIOLA. So, alas, do we! + +ROSALIND. Our habitations are so distant. + +IMOGEN. Did ever father’s favorite daughters meet so little as we? + +JULIET. Are you his favorite daughter too? + +VIOLA. I know I am. Such love as he bears me, if held for all, would +lift him off the earth. + +PORTIA. He hath bequeathed us each a special virtue, which we must +emphasize as the flowers theirs. + +JULIET. Why does Ophelia sit alone and heed us not? I’ll share my news +with her. + +VIOLA. Do not; she hath been curtly dealt with by Prince Hamlet or +perchance her father. Contrast not thy happiness with her sorrow. +Comparisons are steps to pain. + +PORTIA. Thoughts unmoved, like dead water, disease their confines. +Therefore stir thou her sad thought, lest, becoming clogged, it +o’erslough her like to Cordelia here. + +IMOGEN. What words of ours can heal her heart? + +ROSALIND. I will hazard, one from Hamlet could send more sunshine to +her dark life than a thousand moonbeams of our cold comfort. + +JULIET. In twenty days, I sure shall see the dear, kind lord, who is to +give me comfort all my days. + +PORTIA. Ay, those whom we know not to-day may give us joy to-morrow. +But, infant-woman, do not forget the touch of thy nurse’s apron string +before thou canst walk. + +ROSALIND. Peace, torrential adviser, here comes the newly wedded +Beatrice who will o’erwash thee with advice as utterly as the Amazon a +desert spring. + +JULIET. Oh, my ears are unstrung with her re-echoed wisdom. Come, I +have a store of sugared rose leaves, enough for all. I would rather see +them pass in through your lips, than proverbs pass out. + +IMOGEN. Is Desdemona shallow or deep that she proves so good a listener? + +PORTIA. Neither, but like a plate of gold, shines broad again the +brightness she receives. + +ROSALIND. Then I will stand where she can shine on me, some of her news +concerning man’s attire. + +PORTIA. Oh! Another day. For this instant, let Juliet’s rose leaves +silence us awhile. + +_They exeunt together towards their right_ + +_Enter_ BEATRICE _and_ DESDEMONA _another way_ + +BEATRICE. I tell thee ’Mona, to keep thy lord after thou hast won him, +do not show him too oft thy back, lest some other woman standing face +to face, he find her smile a better picture than the nape bone of thy +neck. No, when thou hast let the man thou hast chosen, catch thee, +stand thenceforth, where, if he run, he will fall into thy arms; and +not where, he slipping by, thou wilt have to run, ignominiously, after +him. + +DESDEMONA. But, I am still a maid. + +BEATRICE. Then life to thee remains a maze. + +_Enter_ LADY MACBETH, _who stands apart_ + +BEATRICE. Your unmarried woman is without a ship whereon to trim the +sails of her ambition. + +LADY MACBETH. And if her ship sail a restless tide, like to my Macbeth, +what the advantage of wedlock? Notwithstanding, find some ground to +plant thy faith where it may thrive. Choose thee a husband who may lift +thee, or thou canst lead to thy level; then raise thyself and him again +till death find thee higher, more exalted than thy birth. Thus action +giving thee life, thou wilt ’scape stagnation, which proves to be the +food of death. + +DESDEMONA. Tell me, Beatrice, doth the outer man have ought to do with +wedded peace; as if, he be fair or dark? and if being dark, how dark +for proprieties’ satisfaction? + +BEATRICE. Young love is color blind. Within the month I swore my Ben as +perfect as Apollo, but now my love, being saner placed, mine eyes can +note the tawney of his skin and peering deeper to the better man, my +love doth tighten. + +DESDEMONA. But were he more than common brown, past Spanish tan? + +BEATRICE. Were he burnt as to a Moor and know him as I now do, my love +could know no change. + +DESDEMONA. Yet if his blood were dark from birth, an Indie or a Moor? + +BEATRICE. Not all the sultry blood of Africa could stain the true +strong heart of Benedict. + +DESDEMONA. Couldst thou then marry a Moor? + +BEATRICE. Had he the soul of Benedict and I the eyes +of Beatrice, subtlest lies of Satan could not part us. +Father,--mother,--duty,--time,--space,--all, methinks, could find no +chink for needle point to scratch an entrance ’twixt our loves. + +DESDEMONA. As I listen to thy feeling, my heart doth preen for flight. +How is’t, since wedded, thou dost talk more sober? + +BEATRICE. The yoke of marriage, curbing speed, combines the power and +so gives ballast to the mind. Does my assurance make you happy? + +DESDEMONA. More than I dare think. O I could tell thee battle stories I +have lately heard, but so well told, that I fear recounting would spoil +their memory. And yet what is to fear, come tell me again. + +_Exeunt_ BEATRICE _and_ DESDEMONA + +LADY MACBETH. “Ballast to thy mind”? Conceited plaything! thy ballast +is but pride. These lambkin loves are sweetened honey to my taste. + +_She peruses a letter_ + +OPHELIA + +_Clasping her package of letters and weeping_ + +Alone, alone, alone! My father’s present harshness gives more +loneliness to my heart than leagues of distance from my gentle brother. +And Hamlet, motive of my thoughts and acts, art thou worlds away or +nearer than an hour ago? I cannot tell. Love and cruelty so much +commingled in his words. I know not where I rest. I do not rest,--I am +at sea. O who can give me peace? + +LADY MACBETH _moves away_ + +He says I am not true, yet bade me hide my purity in solitude. His +words spake hate, his voice told love. I cannot think. I cannot move. +Each drop in me is chaos. + +CORDELIA + +_For the first time is seen to move. She looks stonily and for a long +time at_ OPHELIA + +If she can pity me ’twill ease her heart. + +_Arises and comes quietly to_ OPHELIA, _then covering her face with her +hands, she kneels and rests her head in_ OPHELIA’S _lap_ + +OPHELIA. It is Cordelia. Look up. Why, thou art wretched too and yet +thine eye is dry. Come you to me for comfort? If so, I can but hold +thee close and if thou seest tears, translate them as for thee, for +sympathy in words I know not how to give. + +CORDELIA. Place thine ear to mine, so,--and we will listen for each +other’s thoughts. + +OPHELIA. I would not have thee hear my miseries, for then thou too must +weep. + +CORDELIA. To weep is best of all. Could I do so, ingratitude would melt +away, would have no power, I’d feel my father’s presence. O teach me +how to weep. + +OPHELIA. Cordelia, why hast thou long been silent, is’t for thy father? + +CORDELIA. O precious silence! Ophelia, in a world where little truth +is spoken, silence less evil there obtains. These maidens are all kind, +but should I unstop my pain to them, a scatter of advice unsuited, +would fall like winter’s leaves about mine ears. Each day they chatter +up a house of words and when the day is spent, it leaves no trace +behind. For pastime, they do weave a happy future round some ne’erborn +man of their conceiving. Thy Hamlet is the dearest, sanest man of all, +yet him they do consider to be mad. + +OPHELIA. I had a mind to ask their thoughts concerned with Hamlet, but +now thy words dissuade. + +CORDELIA. I’ll tell their answer e’er thou ask them. This day their +remedy for troubled love lies these ways. Thou shouldst mask thee +in the habiliments of a man and so engage as Hamlet’s servant, then +learning all his moods, thou mayest wisely soothe him. One will ’vise +thee how to dress, another how demean thyself, a third shall give +thee points at law and preach to thee of modesty. Coaxing, pleading, +baiting, all shall be proposed to bring him out and when their talk is +run, why, a riddle hath been asked thee. + +OPHELIA. Cordelia, Prince Hamlet is so vast a man the world can scarce +comprise him, and yet his dear simplicity did link his tastes to mine. +Now, now he is estranged, oh am I so to lose him? + +CORDELIA. If I had held thy place and live as near to such a thought as +Hamlet, and then there came a void between our loves, wouldst know my +course? + +OPHELIA. O tell it me. + +CORDELIA. I’d fill my silence full with love and sitting quiet watch +and wait, not tiring with sad looks, but simply and with hope await my +place, then as some ground for tiny seed and deed of love appear, it +should be sown, until some day he’d turn and find my garden grown, a +place wherein to rest. + +_They hold each other close._ OPHELIA _weeps_ + +CORDELIA. I giv’st thee my best counsel, dear, Hast ought to solve _my_ +hardened ache? + +PORTIA _enters, looks on_ OPHELIA, _then to her enter_ ROSALIND, +IMOGEN, BEATRICE, DESDEMONA,--_they stand together_ + +PORTIA. Poor child, see how she clings unto Cordelia. + +ROSALIND. Of sorrow she’s too much now, we dare not give her more. + +DESDEMONA. How did her father die! + +BEATRICE. ’Tis not yet given out. + +LADY MACBETH _and_ REGAN _enter_ + +LADY MACBETH. See, Regan, there she sits and broods upon Cordelia. + +REGAN. I’ll tell her straight. + +LADY MACBETH. ’Twere better not, too much of anguish may undo her. + +REGAN. An overflow of bitterness will sure, then, taint Cordelia, and I +be some avenged. In any wise she soon must hear, and to later tear raw +the half healed wound were worse. I’ll tell her now. + +_She approaches_ OPHELIA + +Daughter of Polonius, turn thee from my father’s stain and heed my +news, thy tears do prove her comfort worthless. I do bring thee further +cause for grief, yet am I kind, in that I make thy present tears do +double duty. Thy father hath been murdered;--and by the mad lord Hamlet. + +PORTIA _and her friends draw a sudden breath and hold to one another_ + +CORDELIA _draws_ OPHELIA _close to her while looking with pity upon_ +REGAN + +ROSALIND. Said she by Hamlet? + +PORTIA. The gentlest of all gentlemen? + +BEATRICE. Can nature be upset? + +IMOGEN. A rose give poison? + +VIOLA. Or the sun freeze? + +LADY MACBETH. All humankind seem not what they are. In truth his deed +is deeper still. He sought and thought not her arras-hidden father to +destroy, it was, so runs the hint, the husband of his mother. + +BEATRICE. The king! + +PORTIA. God save him then. + +VIOLA. Look to Ophelia, she scarce can stand, yet wills to stand alone. + +IMOGEN. Shall we humor her? + +DESDEMONA. Peace to her. Our _master_, now, alone can make her new. + +ROSALIND. O, Regan, why wast ever born? + +LADY MACBETH. They all condemn thee. + +REGAN. For doing what thou durst not. Where I am unloved, I leave. I’ll +have more news and better liking there. + +REGAN _exits_ + +OPHELIA _moves uncertain, distraught_ + +IMOGEN. Her words have beat her to a living death. + +OPHELIA + +_Has ceased to weep, has released herself from the embrace of_ +CORDELIA. _We see her put her finger to her lips as she walks across +to the other side, then passing through the others, who make way for +her. She is about to go--they are about to follow--she returns and with +gesture indicates that she does not wish them to. She then speaks_ + +I must gather flowers by the river--they are best.--Do not come. I will +bring enough for all. + +_She listens_ + +The little river is very quiet, but I can hear it. It has a message for +me. I am going to put my ear so close that I shall lose not a whisper. + +_She bows_ + +Be kind. Always be kind. + +_She smiles and leaves them_ + +ROSALIND. Shall we not follow? + +LADY MACBETH. ’Twould but distress her. + +VIOLA. Is she feigning that she suffers less than we? + +PORTIA. She died at Regan’s word. + +BEATRICE. Let us to the cloister and there think on immortality, not +death. + +DESDEMONA. Dear Cordelia, will you come? + +CORDELIA + +_With head thrown back and eyes closed, spreads, like wings, her arms +with palms turned backward,--the others perceiving that she wishes them +to go, they accede to her wish. When alone she covers her face with her +hands, there is a tumult within her and at last, she weeps_ + +Unwelcome, welcome tears. I weep for her, that could not for myself. +Thus not feeding on another’s woes, by pity we do lose our own. + +_She follows the way_ OPHELIA _went_ + +THE ACTRESS + +_Who has performed_ CORDELIA _now returns, bows a little, then speaks, +as follows_:-- + +My eyes are washed and now I do perceive that all the world’s a stage, +from whence, at end of day, we look inquiringly at those who looked on +us. + +If we have read our author’s plot aright, our reward should be, to spy, +with ours, some brighter, fonder eyes, who flash us thanks, and who in +turn do work and watch and play; while we in turn do dream new action +for the morrow. + +MUSIC _is heard_ + +O all’s not done. We’ve another here to thank and love and I must have +my share. + +THE ACTRESS _hurries away_ + +Then after brief interlude, is seen,--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + +It may be that he appears personified, or in the form of a statue, +bust or painting. Then come to him (or he along with them) all the +characters in this fantasy; or even as many of the female characters in +all his plays as may be. + +Now is to be performed a pantomime, to music, which indicates “love and +thanks” to Shakespeare. + +So let the artist who directs this scheme, use all the arts he may +command and with a generous and active eye, paint his action tunefully. + + +THE END + +When the time is scant, in which to arrange a pantomime especially +suited to the material at hand, let the following be performed to +Mendelssohn’s music from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” the fairy theme +especially. This music should commence pianissimo when the actress who +plays Cordelia, says: “action for the morrow,” and becomes mezzo-forte +as she hurries away. + +After a slight pause, TITANIA trips on with her fairy wand, and +listens right and left, then apparently hears something and tripping +up to some bushes in the background in the centre, she peers through +and dances with delight at her discovery, she comes forward and +beckons right and left;--then dance on the four little fairies +PEAS-BLOSSOM--COBWEB--MOTH--and MUSTARD SEED, two from each side, they +turn about in little circles until they come together in the centre, +forming a little picture with their backs to the audience, stooping +with their hands on their knees and their heads together. Now TITANIA, +who has been up in the centre, trips down and points up to the bushes +and putting her head close to theirs whispers to them, at which they +all dance up and down on their toes and clap their hands with glee. +TITANIA beckons that she wishes to whisper to them again, thereupon +they form the little picture again, this time with faces towards the +audience and TITANIA with her back to it. She whispers to them, at +which they all trip off right and left to the music, TITANIA meanwhile +waving her wand over them and when they are gone she goes to the bushes +at the back and waves a salutation over it. Now the little fairies, two +from each side, come dancing on backwards, beckoning on from near and +far AS MANY OF THE FEMALE CHARACTERS OF SHAKESPEARE’S PLAYS AS MAY BE +OBTAINED. + +They come on singly, excitedly, shrugging their shoulders in +interrogation, asking in pantomime, what it is all about. TITANIA +trips among them forming them into a half circle, the open side to the +audience, she bades, with her wand, look up at the bushes,--they turn +half away from the audience and await in saucy attitude, with their +hands on their hips, the surprise they have in store for them. TITANIA +directs the little fairies, who trip up to the bushes, carefully +draws them away and discovers SHAKESPEARE asleep on a green bank, an +old-fashioned book lying loosely in his hand. + +At sight of him all the characters express joy, kneel with their +hands outstretched in reverence, then they rush to him on their toes, +extending their hands to him. TITANIA placing her wand horizontally, +keeps them away, the little fairies also stand on guard. They try to +peep at him but back away, while he still sleeps. TITANIA comes forward +to the centre with the four little fairies, she encircles them with +her wand, at this they all proceed to trip an elaborate “grand right +and left,” taking bouquets from their belts they strike them as they +pass one another,--they do not take one another’s hand but simply tip +the fingers as they dance past, with their hands held high. They all +keep glancing at SHAKESPEARE, who finally awakens, at which they, each +in turn, dance up and lay the bouquets at his feet, tripping up from +one side and returning the opposite side and forming the original half +circle right and left. SHAKESPEARE rises much pleased and kisses his +hands to them, when they have all arrived in the half circle he raises +his hands as if in benediction, at which they all kneel on one knee, +their hands stretched toward him in appeal. + +The MUSIC at this point descends to a pianissimo,--then SHAKESPEARE +speaks as follows: + + Children of my dreams, how I love thee!-- + Yet more than dream-children; for, down the ages shall ye live as + jewels to adorn those artist souls, painters, players, writers, who + love thee. + Then as _they_ pass to other spheres and other poets, some per + chance, to meet with me again, thou shalt remain to entrance and + cheer and give ambition to the ages soon to come.-- + Play on sweet children, thy joy is mine, mine is thine. Would my arms + were great enough to crush thee all, like to a bouquet of sweetest + flowers. + My heart is thine, thine is mine. + Play on. Play on. + +They now all sing “Good-night” (words from Romeo and Juliet, music by +Howard Glover). And as SHAKESPEARE retreats amongst the foliage (or +disappears by special light effects), descends the + + +CURTAIN + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78148 *** |