The Mortal G.o.ds and Other Plays.

by Olive Tilford Dargan.

ACT I

SCENE: _A vast room in the palace of Hudibrand. As the curtain rises the place is in darkness save for a circlet of gold apparently suspended in mid-air near the centre of the room. As the light increases, the outline of a man's figure becomes distinguishable, and the circlet is seen to be resting on his head. Gradually the rim of gold fades to invisibility, while the figure of the man and the contents of the room become clear to the eye. The man might be mistaken for an American citizen in customary evening dress. He is Hudibrand._

_At the left are two entrances, upper and lower. Rear, left, large windows. The wall rear makes a right angle about centre, the apex of which is cut off by a window. Right of centre the room seems to extend endlessly rearward, and is arranged to suggest an upland grove in the delicate, venturing days of spring. The ground, rising a little toward right, is covered with winter moss and tufts of short silvered gra.s.s.

The trees are young birch, slight maples in coral leaf, cornel in flower, and an occasional dark foil of cedar. A brooklet ripples down the slope and off rear. Birds chirp and flit, and now and then a breeze stirs the grove as if it were one tender body. The lights are arranged to give the effect of night or day as one wishes._

_It is winter without, the climate of a.s.saria's capital city being similar to that of New York._

_Double doors lower right, through which Count Dorkinski enters to Hudibrand._

_Dor._ Your majesty, Sir Borduc has arrived.

_Hudi._ Hot-shod. We'll let him cool.

_Dor._ Where shall he wait, My lord?

_Hud._ His usual corner. Keep him off My Delhi rug.

[_Exit Dorkinski_]

Poor Bordy's fuming ripe.

[_Re-enter the Count_]

_Dor._ His Excellency calls, your majesty.

_Hud._ Which Excellency? They are thick as hops.

_Dor._ The Governor of Peonia.

_Hud._ In time and tune.

We'll see him here.

[_Exit Dorkinski_]

A p.a.w.n of mine who'd push Beyond his square, and I must humor him 'Neath meditative thumb.

[_Enter Megario_]

_Hud._ Welcome, Megario.

_Meg._ I've travelled far To press your hand.

_Hud._ We made appointment here, Knowing your visit to a.s.saria touched Nothing of state or office.

_Meg._ [_Accepting his cue_] Nothing, sir. [_Looks about him_]

I thought I left the springtide in my rear, Three thousand miles or so, but here it greets me.

_Hud._ A gimcrack of my daughter's. She would freak With sun and time. My toyshop has no walls.

I juggle too with seasons, climates, zones, But in the open where there's warrior room, And startled Fate may spring against my will, Giving an edge to mastery when I wrest The whip from Nature, turn it on herself, And set her elemental slaves to filch Her gold for me. That, friend, is play.

_Meg._ For G.o.ds And not as thief, but as divinity, You take from crouching Nature.

_Hud._ Men have said I pile up gold because its glitter soothes A fever in my eyes. The clacking fools!

I am no Cheops making warts on earth.

No mummy brain! G.o.d built my pyramids, Slaving through dark and chaos till there rose My iron-hearted hills, and mountains locked On ago-unyielded treasure waiting me.

There slept my gems till longing became fire And broke the grip of stone,--there lay my gold, Re-purged each thousand years till baited Time Gave up the master's hour.

[_Hernda has come from the grove and moves up to his side_]

_Her._ [_Adoringly_] And you the master!

_Hud._ Daughter, you owe my lord Megario Some pretty thanks.

_Her._ I give them, sir.

_Meg._ No, no!

I pray your Highness, no! My thanks to earth That bears the flower of you, and to the light That makes my eyes your beauty's treasurer.

But thanks from you to me, as jewels hung Upon a beggar's neck, would set my rags Unkindly in the sun.

_Her._ Then I am not Your debtor?

_Meg._ Mine the debt, that mounts too fast For feeble payment from thin purse of words.

Ah, every moment adds a suitor hope To th' bankrupts in my heart.

_Her._ I fear, my lord, Your coiner's name is Fancy, and I like Truth's mintage best. [_To her father_]

What is this debt of mine, So languished that a word of thanks may be Its slender cover?

_Meg._ A word, if beauty speak it, May mantle a bare world.

_Hud._ His Excellency Is Governor of Peonia----

_Her._ In Goldusan!

_Hud._ And smoothed my road there----

_Meg._ Nay, your majesty, My aid was but a garnish on the might That moves with your own name.

_Hud._ Between us then, We saved my holdings through a bl.u.s.ter there.

And what they brought me I've tossed here to make This smile on winter.

_Meg._ What? You gave her all?

_Her._ How, sir? One word of mine would robe a world.

And my whole self not worth a little spot Twitched from Spring's garment?