_Vashti_.

And if thou seest not how slippery Is women's place in the world of men, 'tis like Thou wilt amazedly the vision take, When I have led thee up my tower of thought.

_2nd Woman_.

How are we dangerous? Are we not women, Man's endless need?

_Vashti_.

Ay, and therein the danger!

Is it not possible he hate the need?

For not as he were a beast it urges him: He is aware of it, he knows its force,-- The kind of beasts is in their blood alone, But man is blood and spirit. And in him, As in all creature, is the word from G.o.d, "Utter thyself in joy."

_2nd Woman_.

And we his joy.

_Vashti_.

But such an one that may become, perhaps, Something not utterance, but strict commanding, Yea, mastery, like the dancing in the blood Of one bitten by spiders. And it is Spirit, Spirit enjoying woman, that hath sent A beating poison in the blood of man, The poison which is l.u.s.t. Spirit was given To use life as a sense for ecstasy; Life mixt with Spirit must exult beyond s.e.x-madden'd men and s.e.x-serving women, Into some rapture where sweet fleshly love Is as the air wherein a music rings.

But blood hath captured Spirit; Spirit hath given The strength of its desire of joy to make What ecstasy it may of woman's beauty, And of this only, doing no more than train The joys of blood to be more keen and cunning; As men have trained and tamed wild lives of the forests, Breeding them to more excellent shape and size And tireless speed, and to know the words of men.

So the wise masterful Spirit rules the joys That come all fierce from roaming the dark blood; They are broken to his desire, they are wily for him, A pack of l.u.s.ts wherewith the Spirit hunts Pleasure; and the chief prey the pleasure hid In woman.

_1st Woman_.

What joys are these?

_Vashti_.

What joys?

The joys of rutting beasts, tamed to endure, Tamed to be always swift to answer Spirit, Yet fiercer for their taming, wilder hungers; So that the Spirit, if he hunt them not, Fears to be torn by them in mutiny.

Now know you woman's beauty! 'Tis these joys, The heat of the blood's desires, changed and mastered By the desire of spirit, trained to serve Spirit with l.u.s.t, spirit with woman enjoy'd.

_2nd Woman_.

Queen, I am beautiful, and cannot boast Thy subtle thinking; and to one like me, What matters whence come beauty, so I have it?

Let it be but the witless mating of beasts, Tamed and curiously knowing itself And cunning in its own delight: What then?

The nightingale desires his little la.s.s, And that brings out of his heart a radiant song; A man desires a woman, and for song Out of his heart comes beauty, that like flame Reaches towards her, and covers her limbs with light.

If it so please thee, say that neither loves Aught but his life's desire, fashioning it Adorably to marvellous song and beauty.

What then? Enough that the wonder lights on me, To me is paid the worship of the wonder.

_Vashti_.

O well I know how strong we are in man; His senses have our beauty for their G.o.d, And his delight is built about us like Towering adoration, housing worship.-- The spirit of man may dwell in G.o.d: the world, From the soft delicate floor of gra.s.s to those Rafters of light and hanging cloths of stars, Is but the honour in G.o.d's mind for man, Wrought into glorious imagination.

But women dwell in man; our temple is The honour of man's sensual ecstasy, Our safety the imagined sacredness Fashion'd about us, fashion'd of his pleasure.

Beauty hath done this for us, and so made Woman a kind within the kind of man.

Yea, there is more than this: a mighty need Hath man made of his woman in the world.

Now man walks through his fate in fellowship Of two companion spirits; ay, and these With double mastery go on with him.

The one in black disgraceful weeds is Toil; She sows with never-ending gesture all The path before his feet, cursing the way She drags him on with growth of flouting crops, Urchin thistles, and rank flourishing nettles.

But the other has a wear of woven gleam, And with soft hand beseeches him his face Away from the hardships of his hurt stung feet, That with his eyes he may desire her looks: And she is Beauty of Woman, man's dear blessing.

And if you would be wise, be well afraid To think you have more office than to be A sweet delicious while amid man's hours Of worldly labour: we are too precious, so.

Yet see you not how this that Spirit hath done Is also dangerous?--For there are mightier needs!

There's no content for Spirit in the world Till he has striven out of bounded fate, And sent an infinite desire forth Into the whole eternity of things.

Yea, spirit ails with loathing secretly The irremediable force of being; Unless, with free expatiate desire, He shape into the endless burning flux Of starry world blindly adventuring Some steady righteous destiny for Spirit: Even as dreaming brain fashions the fume Of life asleep to marshall'd imagery.

But we are in the way of this: and man, The more he needs to announce upon the world, Over him going like a storming air, That fashioning word which utters the divine Imagination working in him like anger; The more he finds his virtue caught and clogged In the fierce luxury he hath made of woman.

Thence are we sin, thence deliciously Persuading man refuse his highest ardour.

Too easily kindled was the ecstasy Of fleshly pa.s.sion, with a joyous flame Too readily answering the Spirit's fire!

He burns with us alone, so fragrantly His n.o.blest vigour swoons delighted. Yea, Women, I tell you, not far now is man From hating us, so pa.s.sionate the joy Of loving us, so mightily drawing down Into the service of his pleasure here All forces of his being. The pleasure soon Becomes a shame, scarce to be spoken aloud; And in best minds, either detested doting Man's joy in woman's beauty will become; Or a strict binding fire, holding him down In l.u.s.t of beauty where no beauty is.

[_The_ KING'S MESSENGER _comes in_.

_Messenger_.

To Vashti, to the Queen of the world, to her In whom the striving beauty of the world Hath made perfection, from the King I come.

And the King bids me say, Rise from thy feast; For thou must be to-night thyself a feast: The vision of thy loveliness must now Feed with astonishment my va.s.sals' hearts.

Therefore thou art to come.

_Vashti_.

And tell the King I will not come.

_Messenger_.

What was there in my words Thou dost not understand?--I say, the King Would show thy beauty to his under-kings, That with this also they may be amazed And utterly fear his fortune.

_Vashti_.

So. Go back, Tell the King I have hearkened to his message, And tell him I will not come.

_Messenger_.

What sickness shall I say has lighted on thee, So that thou canst not come?

_Vashti_.

Thou weariest me.

Say this to the King, Vashti will not come.

Are they not plain, my words? Canst thou not learn them?

_Messenger_.

Give me some softer speech. Must I not fear I shall earn whipping if I take these words?

_Vashti_.

I pray thee, go. Thou art a trouble here; Seest thou not how all these feasting women Pause, and the pleasure is distrest in them?

Thou hast thy message: say, She will not come.-- Back to the King, now!

_Messenger_.

I am whipt for this.

[_He goes_.

_Vashti_.

It seems, my sisters, we have changed our moods.

But now, my mind was heavy, you were blithe; And in a moment, you, behold, are fixt Gazing like desperate things, while I rejoice.

_1st Woman_.

Rejoice! thou dost rejoice? then madness does.

_Vashti_.

I know not that: but certainly I know A mind, that has been feeling for long time The greatness of some hovering event Poised over life, will rejoice marvellously When the event falls, suddenly seizing life: Like faintness when a thunderstorm comes down, That turns to exulting when the lightning flares, Shattering houses, making men afraid.

And this is my event: I am its choice.

Yea, not as a storm, but as an eagle now It stoops on me; and, though I am its prey, I am lifted by majestic wings, my soul Is clothed in swiftness of a mighty soaring.