Scene V.
A Room in Lord William Herbert’s lodgings in London.
Herbert:
[Unbuckles his belt and gives it with his sword to a gray-haired servant in livery: takes off his cap with its great jewelled brooch and throws it on the table.] Has no one come?
Body-Servant:
No one, my lord; but there’s a messenger from Wilton inquiring after your health.
Herbert:
My health! Another of your tricks, Longman, I’ll be sworn. You must be mad: I’m perfectly well.
Body-Servant:
Your lordship had a chill last week and Lady Pembroke made me promise——
Herbert:
[Waives him to silence.] Bah, bah! [The Servantbows and steps back.] I expect a lady this afternoon; the same who came the other day: you know, tall and dark; bring her to me here, and then you are free to write to my lady mother and tell her I have a tingling ear—the right one—don’t forget. [The Servant bows and retires backward. Herbert recalls him.] And, Longman, tell the other servants I’m not to be disturbed. [Exit Servant. Lord Herbert goes over to a mirror and arranges his slight moustache, runs his fingers through his hair, then picks up a sword and makes imaginary passes with it; at length takes up a book, throws himself into a chair and begins to read. A few moments pass; a discreet knock is heard at the door. Miss Fitton enters, Herbert reads on, till she stands before him and puts her hand on his book. He jumps to his feet.] I am sorry, Mary. [Kissing her.] I did not hear you. I was reading an old love-story, the story of Achilles and the Siege of Troy. Won’t you sit?
Miss Fitton:
And our love-story is not a month old. A month ago and you would have been waiting at the door for me; but now—— [Sighs.]
Herbert:
I was waiting there to-day; but you are very late, and one cannot play sentinel for ever. Have you heard the news? No! Lady Joan instead of curing Lacy, has caught his trick of speech, and her quaint words and demure air set everyone roaring.
Miss Fitton:
We women are all ape-like in our loves; I catch myself repeating your words like an echo: I wish I had been born a man—Heigh-ho! But there’s another piece of news—
Herbert:
What’s that?
Miss Fitton:
The Queen has heard that Lady Jane Wroth gives her lips too easily: she has locked her up for a month on bread and water.
Herbert:
Joan’s rather pretty, don’t you think? with great child-eyes; but shy—who’s the happy man? Essex or Egerton, I’ll be sworn.
Miss Fitton:
A newer lover, I hear, and one nearer to the Queen’s heart—young William Herbert.
Herbert:
I? Never, never. Oh! a kiss in passing—a mere courtesy——
Miss Fitton:
You are incorrigible!
Herbert:
I am. How can I help it? I can’t love the rose and scorn the lily. Every woman tempts me; but after all Mary is best [tries to take her in his arms, but she draws away], for Mary is hardest to win, and I love her—— [Kisses her.]
Miss Fitton:
[Yielding.] What fools we women are! I know you don’t love me; but I cheat myself you do, and the slighter the proof the more I fondle it. What double fools, for when I would be true and brave and free, you lean your head upon my breast, and the mother in me makes me your slave; my blood turns to milk; I am all tenderness and take your desire for love. We are so foolish-fond—wretched creatures!
Herbert:
Not much to choose between us: Come, Mary, here are your tables; since you gave them to me I haven’t kept you waiting once: now have I? [Puts them on the table.]
Miss Fitton:
No, and twice you have waited for me. If I could be sure you loved me—sure—[A knock is heard at the door] Who’s that?
Herbert:
I don’t know; I gave orders——[The knocking is repeated.]
Miss Fitton:
I must not be found here; where? where——
Herbert:
[Pointing to the door,R.,and whispering.] That door will take you out. Come to-morrow at the same time. You will? [Smiles as Miss Fitton says “Yes” and goes; he returns towards door,C.;the knocking is repeated.] Come in there; come in. [Shakespeare enters.] Oh, it’s you, is it?
Scene VI.
Shakespeare:
Unbidden; but not, I hope, unwelcome.
Herbert:
No, no. Come in and be seated. I was half asleep, I think.
Shakespeare:
We have not tasted life together for days and days.
Herbert:
’Tis true; not since my quarrel with Raleigh. How the old limpet clings to place. He has just come to new honours, I hear: she has made him Governor of Jersey. Curse him!
Shakespeare:
With honour one can always buy honours.
Herbert:
[Laughs.] Yes! the singular is more than the plural.
Shakespeare:
[Hesitatingly.] When I last saw you I begged your voice. Did you see her?
Herbert:
I did. I wanted to speak to you about it; but it’s not—pleasant.
Shakespeare:
Not pleasant!
Herbert:
I did my best, talked of your talents—all to no effect. Girls are queer monkeys!
Shakespeare:
No effect!
Herbert:
[Looking in the mirror.] I mean, though she admires you infinitely, she cannot love you.
Shakespeare:
Cannot love me? Mistress Fitton!
Herbert:
Who else?
Shakespeare:
She told you she did not love me?
Herbert:
[Looking at his profile.] She did.
Shakespeare:
Strange!
Herbert:
Why strange?
Shakespeare:
She does love me.
Herbert:
[Waving the mirror.] Admire, yes; but love, no!
Shakespeare:
Love, yes!
Herbert:
Friendship, affection, love if you will, but—but—not passion.
Shakespeare:
Passion.
Herbert:
[Throwing down the mirror.] Do you mean to say——
Shakespeare:
Yes.
Herbert:
[Indignantly.] What! What! Ha! Ha! Ha! The damned young minx!
Shakespeare:
Why do you call her minx?
Herbert:
Because—because she lied to me.
Shakespeare:
No other reason?
Herbert:
None!
Shakespeare:
What object could she have in deceiving you, as to her love for me, you, my friend?
Herbert:
[Carelessly.] In faith I don’t know—a girl’s whim, I suppose.
Shakespeare:
Strange—a girl seldom denies her love—and Mistress Fitton has courage. Most strange!
Herbert:
Well, you must ravel out the tangle at some idle moment; it’s too knotty for me. Have you seen Chapman’s “Iliad”? I’ve just been reading it: ’tis as fine as Homer; don’t you think?
Shakespeare:
I am not learned enough to judge.
Herbert:
I hear you met Bacon the other day. What did you think of him?
Shakespeare:
I know him too little—he’s Jonson’s friend—she denied me, you say, to you?
Herbert:
She did. But now I must dress: you’ll forgive me.
[Takes up his sword-belt and buckles it on: looks for his gloves and cap. Shakespeare in the meantime moves to the table and catches sight of the tablets which Herbert has thrown down.]
Shakespeare:
[Picking up the tablets.] Oh, my divining soul! [Turns to Herbert.] I pray you, of your courtesy; when did you see Miss Fitton last?
Herbert:
[Arranging his doublet before the mirror.] Yesterday, to-day. Why?
Shakespeare:
[Showing tablets.] When did she give you these?
Herbert:
Those? where did you find them?
Shakespeare:
She gave them to you?
Herbert:
Mary Fitton? Yes.
Shakespeare:
Andyoutook them, knowing they were my gift to her?
Herbert:
How could I know that?
Shakespeare:
She told you. You must have asked where the verses came from: she hates verses, and loves truth—truth!
Herbert:
Don’t take it so tragic, man. A girl’s kiss, no weightier than a breath.
Shakespeare:
A girl’s kiss, and a friend’s faith. No weightier than a breath.
Herbert:
In love and war, none of us is to be trusted.
Shakespeare:
So!
Herbert:
It wasn’t all my fault——
Shakespeare:
[Taking hold of him, and watching his face.] Not your fault! What? She tempted you—[Herbert nods]—and who could resist her? she tempted you! Oh, let her rot and perish and be damned; the foul thing! I am cold with loathing.
Herbert:
I don’t want to put the blame on her; it all came naturally; but you must not think I went about with intent to deceive you.
Shakespeare:
She tempted you; when? The first time you saw her; the very night I asked you to plead for me?
Herbert:
I don’t wish to excuse myself; you know how such things happen. We danced; she dared me to wait by her when the Queen came; of course I waited—oh, curse it!
Shakespeare:
She dared you. That rank pride of hers the pride that ruined angels and unpeopled heaven! The foul temptress! Damn her, oh, damn her!
Herbert:
Pride’s no fault.
Shakespeare:
No fault! She swears love to me and then to you; kisses me and kisses you—no fault—she loves the slime that sticks to filthy deeds.
Herbert:
You believe her when you’re with her; she seems true.
Shakespeare:
O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might have lain by an emperor’s side. Hang her! I do but say what she is. The public commoner!
Herbert:
Don’t blame her, she’s so young.
Shakespeare:
And so fair! Such courage, strength, wit, grace, gaiety. God! Had she been true one would have pawned the world for her. And now——
Herbert:
You take it too tragic.
Shakespeare:
Too tragic! I have lost all—joy, hope, trust—all gone; my pearl of life; my garden of delight!
Herbert:
Think, man: it’s not the first time she has slipped, she doesn’t pretend it is.
Shakespeare:
The pity of it; ah! the pity of it! The sky is all soiled: my lips, too—my hands—ah!
Herbert:
Why can’t you be a man, and take what’s light lightly!
Shakespeare:
Only the light do that! [To himself.] Is it wrong to kill those light ones?
Herbert:
You would not hurt her.
Shakespeare:
No! That’s true. I could not hurt her sweet, white flesh. God, how I love her! I’ll tear out that love! Oh, the pity of it, the pity of it: all dirtied, all. But I’ll not be fond!
Herbert:
Why not? she loves you; she said so: it’s true, most likely.
Shakespeare:
Trust’s dead in me: she has killed it. I think of her, and shudder—the sluttish spoil of opportunity. Faugh!
Herbert:
Put it out of mind, and it’s as if it had not been.
Shakespeare:
You’ll marry her?
Herbert:
I wouldn’t marry an angel.
Shakespeare:
And yet—she loved you—kissed you—gave herself to you: Damnation!
Herbert:
You make too much of it!
Shakespeare:
Too much! I trusted you, your honour: bared my heart to you——Ah! the traitor wound!
Herbert:
Forgive us both and forget: Come. [Puts his hand out.]
Shakespeare:
[Shrinks back.] Words, words!
Herbert:
I never meant to hurt you.
Shakespeare:
That’s the Judas curse! They know not what they do; but it’s done. I had two idolatries—my friendship for you; I loved your youth and bravery! And my passion for her, the queen andpearl of women. And now the faith’s dead, the love’s befouled.
Herbert:
In a little while hope will spring again and new love.
Shakespeare:
Never, my summer is past! The leaves shake against the cold.
Herbert:
What can I say? What can I do?
Shakespeare:
Nothing: I must go. [Turns to the door.] You have your deeds to live with. [Exit Shakespeare.]
ACT IV
Scene I.
In the “Mitre” Tavern.
Shakespeare:
[To Ben Jonson, whom he finds sitting.] Good morning, Ben. Has Burbage left?
Jonson:
He’s gone to the theatre; he will be back, anon. You’re all to go to Court, he says. Do you play?
Shakespeare:
[Indifferently.] I don’t know: I hope not. [Drawer enters and gives Shakespeare a letter.] Will you forgive me?
Jonson:
[Shakespeare reads.] I’ll wager that’s from Chettle, asking you to pay his reckoning. [Shakespeare nods.] But you won’t do it. No one deserves help less.
Shakespeare:
Those who deserve it least, Ben, often need it most.
Jonson:
Need! He is all needs; he but uses you—shamelessly.
Shakespeare:
[Looking at the letter and smiling.] He signs himself “the old roisterer who won’t trouble you long.”
Jonson:
“The old roisterer” at your expense.
Shakespeare:
I owe him what money can never pay [takes out his purse] his jokes and humoured laughter. He warms me with his hot love of life, and living.
[Gives Drawer gold; exit Drawer.
Jonson:
I’ve no patience with you. You play prince-fool with everyone and you’ll suffer for it yet.
Shakespeare:
Prince-fool, indeed. Which is the better title, I wonder:—prince or fool? [Shakespeare goes to window; opens lattice and looks out.] Hush; hark! [Opens the door, listens; shuts it again.] Curse her!
Jonson:
Be careful of your money, man, and the world will let you play both parts at will.
Shakespeare:
Money! What is money to me?
[Returning into the room again and moving about and then going to the casement.]
Jonson:
Everything, Will, shield and sword; back and front piece. [Shakespeare turns round listening.] You are love’s plaything, Will.
Shakespeare:
[Stopping in front of him.] Love lives on love, Ben; the less she gives me the less I crave. When I saw her every day it was too little, and now I see her twice a month, I’m no longer her slave. ’Tis not worth while to befool oneself for so little.
Jonson:
[Shrugging his shoulders.] H’m. You’re not cured yet!
Shakespeare:
Hush! [Hastens to door and listens, opens it;drops his hands in despair, shuts it again, turns into the room.] Damn her!
Jonson:
Love, you know——
Shakespeare:
[Stops in front of him.] Is it love or hate? Sometimes I hate her—sometimes she is coarse to me, obstinate and vain, soulless as a drab, sometimes [Puts his hands to his face.] the rose of women. [Throws himself in a seat.] I pass my time in waiting for her, thinking of her: I am degraded into a brute-desire. She writes, “I will be with you in an hour,” that is three hours agone; she is not here yet, and may not come to-day; damn her!
Jonson:
Why don’t you work; put her out of mind: forget her?
Shakespeare:
Forget! work! That is the worst of her, she kills my work, and yet she quickens life in me. When we sacrifice ourselves for some one, Ben; when we give too much; we grow to hate her!... Is it not shameful of her to tease me so? [Goes to window again and looks out.] The slut! [Sits down again.]
Jonson:
They say a man gets the woman he merits. I have a shrew, a scold, constant and jealous like the itch; you a wanton, mad with pride. Yet we could be free if we would; we are afraid to hurt them, Will; that’s it—afraid. What fools men are!
Shakespeare:
[Starting up.] I wish she were here, I’d hurt her——
Jonson:
Hark; she comes! I’ll not spoil sport.
[Exit by door,L.
[Some one knocks at door,C.;Miss Fitton enters dressed in a man’s cloak and hat.]
Miss Fitton:
Am I late?
Shakespeare:
Late! I have been here for hours, walking up and down like a beast in a cage, listening for the step that never comes. When Hope has died and the ashes are cold, you come.
Miss Fitton:
Perhaps I should not have come: would that have been better?
Shakespeare:
I don’t know: I am worn out with waiting.
Miss Fitton:
[Half turning to door.] I can go.
Shakespeare:
You fiend! [Goes to her and takes her head in his hands, holds it back, and kisses her on the lips again and again.] Kiss me! Put your arms round me. Ah! [Takes a long breath.] What a wretch you are! I was afraid you had forgotten altogether and would not come!
Miss Fitton:
It was hard to come. [Throws open her cloak, shows her dress.] See, I was on duty. Jane Wroth was ill: I had to take her place: as soonas I was free I threw on this cloak and hat and came. I didn’t wait even to tire myself: [Pats her hair.] I must be hideous.
Shakespeare:
You were to have come on Monday and didn’t come: for hours I walked to and fro outside the Court—madness and I—a pretty pair—you would do well to fear us. But now—take off that hat and cloak.
Miss Fitton:
[Takes off the hat; takes up a hand-glass and looks at herself; lays it down.] I must be gone soon.
Shakespeare:
What? You are but come, and already speak of going. Come, then.
[Puts his arm around her and draws her towards the inner door, that, when open, shows a bedroom.]
Miss Fitton:
No, no; time fleets. I must go soon: it is impossible. Let us talk here.
Shakespeare:
You are the bellows and the fan to my desire: yet as soon as you see the flame, you shrink and leave me.
Miss Fitton:
[Regarding him curiously.] It is hard to please you now.
Shakespeare:
You don’t try often—nor long.
Miss Fitton:
[Shrugs her shoulders.] You make it hard for me to come again.
Shakespeare:
[Goes and kneels at her feet as she is sitting, and puts his hands on her waist.] Why don’t you try to cure me another way? Why not come and give yourself to me, till, surfeited with sweet, the appetite may die? That is the cure of love. Cure me like that!
Miss Fitton:
It might take long. But I like you better as you are now.
Shakespeare:
Do you! Ah! [Putting his head back.] If you knew the maddening hours I spend, longing, waiting, hoping, fearing, you would pity me. There is a martyrdom in love. I live in purgatory; burning now with hell’s fevers, and now my fiend comes and my dungeon, flame-lit, is more lovely-fair than Heaven. When you have gone the air will sing of you; I close my eyes and hear the rustle of your garments, and [putting his hands to his face] on my hands there lingers the perfume of your beauty. [He buries his face in her dress, then rises gravely.] You once said love would keep love; I love you, Mary, to madness.
Miss Fitton:
[Rises, too.] I am fond of you, too; do not doubt it.
Shakespeare:
Come, then [putting his arm round her and drawing her towards the inner room], and I will be what you like; one short half-hour——
Miss Fitton:
[Frees herself.] No, no; I must be gone. Whattime is it? I must be back before the dinner; I must.
Shakespeare:
You make me hate you! To be refused and shamed.... My first thought was right.
Miss Fitton:
Your first thought?
Shakespeare:
That damned boy!
Miss Fitton:
Herbert! [Hurriedly.] I have not seen him for days and days. Has he been here?
Shakespeare:
He’s not likely to come here. Damn him!
Miss Fitton:
[Takes up her hat and begins to put it on; she puts her hair right with the hand-glass and then moves to the door and takes up her horseman’s coat from the settle; all this while Shakespeare sits with his head on his hand. She moves across and stands beside him, and then puts her hand on his shoulder.] You make it hard for me tocome! You are so moody-sullen. What would you have me do?
Shakespeare:
[Looking down.] Love me, that’s all [As if to himself.]—it isn’t much. Give me love’s ecstasy, the joy that beggars thanks; the life that is divine. Love is my mortal sickness, love!
Miss Fitton:
You should rouse yourself: you are moody.
Shakespeare:
[Looks up smiling.] Mad, you would say; why not? It goes with “bad” and “glad” and “sad”—good words all! Do you know how first I came to it? I will tell you. Sit there and let my eyes feed on you. [Miss Fitton sits near him.] Strange; you are more desirable now than when I first knew you. Then I saw faults in you; now your faults all sharpen appetite. As I look at you it all comes back—that first day in Whitehall when the morning air was warm like milk and the wavelets danced in the sun. Do you remember how we sat and kissed, each kiss longer than the last? [Mistress Fitton bows herhead.]... I went the other day to the same spot by the river—I was alone and desolate—but of a sudden you came—[she turns to him in wonder] yourself, of grace and pride compounded, like a queen, and I touched your hair, and every separate hair a sin of multiple desire; I drew down your face and your lips clung and kissed as no lips ever kissed before. Then of a sudden you were gone, and I was awake—alone. Since then I have prayed to go mad again, to hold you, and so be mad for ever, lips on lips——[Mistress Fitton rises.] What are you doing?
Miss Fitton:
[Takes up cloak.] I must go, Will; I must, indeed. I am late now. [Holds the cloak to him.]
Shakespeare:
What! Now! You have been but a moment... [He drapes her in the cloak.] Perhaps it is best so. [She turns to the door.] You will come again soon?
Miss Fitton:
Soon. But I want to hear you laugh as you used to laugh and turn all things to humour and gaiety!
Shakespeare:
Come soon, and I will clown it—soon! [She goes, nodding to him from the door.] Soon.
Shakespeare:
[While Shakespeare stands at gaze Ben Jonson enters.] It is the end, I think—the end. [Turns to the room.] What weak curs we are, Ben: I beg her to come soon; yet I wish she were dead!
Jonson:
A proud patch, that; she’s not likely to die soon: the devil takes care of his own.
Shakespeare:
She’s proud, indeed; but why do you miscall her?
Jonson:
We were there in the yard as she passed, three or four of us: the yard was dirty: she picked up her clothes and walked past us as if we were posts. Shapely legs she’s got.
Shakespeare:
Shapely, indeed. Damnation!
Jonson:
Why did she go so soon?
Shakespeare:
Duty at Court, she said.
Jonson:
A convenient excuse. Why came she so far for so little? I’d seek another reason.
Shakespeare:
Another reason? Speak plainly, man, like a friend.
Jonson:
Plainly, then, it’s said she visits Herbert in that horseman’s cloak. ’Twas Hughes spread the thing: he knows.
Shakespeare:
Herbert! Damn her!
Jonson:
Put her out of your head, man. Violet’s worth a dozen of her. Put her out of your head and think of weightier things. You are to play atCourt this afternoon, and Burbage says the Queen will make you Master of the Revels if you ask for it. I wish ’twere mine for the asking.
Shakespeare:
It irks me to ask favours of her: her hands are red with blood.
Jonson:
For your friends’ sake, Will, if not for your own: Burbage wants it, all of us; it would strengthen us, and we need it. The preachers grow louder against us every day, and the old cat is breaking fast; she won’t last long. Burleigh and all of them are in weekly letters with James. Ask boldly, man; once in the place you are there for life.
Shakespeare:
I will do my best. But I am glad I’m not on the stage. I hate the public show: I am in no mood to play bear or dog.
[The clock strikes one.]
Jonson:
Well, I must be gone or my vixen will bite. Good luck, Will, and don’t forget you must beour Master under the Lord Chamberlain. Your friends expect it of you. [Exit Jonson.]
Shakespeare:
[Takes out a copy of “The Merry Wives,” reads it for a few moments, then throws it down.] It is all sickening to me. I can write nothing. The love of the work has left me: the love of life, too: when she went, all went—ambition, hope, everything.... Damn her! How maimed and sore I am!...
[After a few moments the clock strikes two; a moment later the door opens and Miss Fitton comes in; he starts up as she enters.]
Miss Fitton:
Have you heard? Herbert’s in the Tower.
Shakespeare:
For what crime?
Miss Fitton:
For loving me, I suppose.
Shakespeare:
You don’t expect me to weep?
Miss Fitton:
I thought you might do something; get Southampton or one of your friends to ask for his release. It is only her temper!
Shakespeare:
And you? What will you do.
Miss Fitton:
I am banned from Court; supposed now to be on my way home. If she knew I was still here and for what purpose, there is no suffering she’d spare me. Yet I stay for pride, I think, and for the danger.
Shakespeare:
And to see him again.
Miss Fitton:
No, that’s done with. But I want him free, not punished.
Shakespeare:
You love him still; why do you pretend to love me? You can’t love two men.
Miss Fitton:
Can’t I? I don’t know. You are so different.
Shakespeare:
What do you mean? You can’t love us both.
Miss Fitton:
He dominates me and I you. He hurts me and I hurt you, and yet I can’t bear you not to love me. I do love you, Will, really; you heal me when he has bruised me. You make me proud again and he humiliates me. I don’t want to see him ever again. But I don’t want him in prison, and I know I can ask you to help him. I wouldn’t ask any other man; but you I can ask; you are the soul of kindness.
Shakespeare:
Why did you give him my tablets?
Miss Fitton:
I gave him more—much more. And now I have to face——
Shakespeare:
“More?”
Miss Fitton:
More than men dare or dread; we women always lose more than men.
Shakespeare:
So you know love’s penalty—you poor child!
Miss Fitton:
I suffer, if that’s what you mean; but the suffering will pass. My courage rises to the need: the world is wide; the roads run free. What will be, will be. One mistake never ruins a man’s life, and one mistake shall never ruin mine. Next summer the sun will shine again and the air be young and quick; I have no fear. [Turns to go.] Farewell, I’m for the road. [Mistress Fitton turns to go.]
Shakespeare:
You will come back. We shall meet again!
Miss Fitton:
[Turns to the door, and turns back again.] It is hard to say; we’ve played at cross-purposes, Will; but we all wound and are wounded in love’s lists; yet, after all, love is the soul of life.
Shakespeare:
A great game; and you are a great player, the greatest I shall ever know. [Takes her hand and kisses it.] Of many thousand kisses this poor last. [Exit Miss Fitton.]