Second Plays Part 52

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle leather, The helmet and the helmet feather Burned like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot.

And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung As he rode down to Camelot.

JANE. I know, dear. But of course they _don't_ nowadays.

MELISANDE. And as he rides beneath my room, singing to himself, I wave one lily hand to him from my lattice, and toss him down a gage, a gage for him to wear in his helm, a rose--perhaps just a rose.

JANE (awed). No, Melisande, would you really? Wave a lily hand to him?

(She waves one) I mean, wouldn't it be rather--_you_ know. Rather forward.

MELISANDE. Forward!

JANE (upset). Well, I mean--Well, of course, I suppose it was different in those days.

MELISANDE. How else could he know that I loved him? How else could he wear my gage in his helm when he rode to battle?

JANE. Well, of course, there _is_ that.

MELISANDE. And then when he has slain his enemies in battle, he comes back to me. I knot my sheets together so as to form a rope--for I have been immured in my room--and I let myself down to him. He places me on the saddle in front of him, and we ride forth together into the world--together for always!

JANE (a little uncomfortably). You do get _married_, I suppose, darling, or do you--er--

MELISANDE. We stop at a little hermitage on the way, and a good priest marries us.

JANE (relieved.) Ah, yes.

MELISANDE. And sometimes he is not in armour. He is a prince from Fairyland. My father is king of a neighbouring country, a country which is sorely troubled by a dragon.

JANE. By a what, dear?

MELISANDE. A dragon.

JANE. Oh, yes, of course.

MELISANDE. The king, my father, offers my hand and half his kingdom to anybody who will slay the monster. A prince who happens to be pa.s.sing through the country essays the adventure. Alas, the dragon devours him.

JANE. Oh, Melisande, that isn't _the_ one?

MELISANDE. My eyes have barely rested upon him. He has aroused no emotion in my heart.

JANE. Oh, I'm so glad.

MELISANDE. Another prince steps forward. Impetuously he rushes upon the fiery monster. Alas, he likewise is consumed.

JANE (sympathetically.) Poor fellow

MELISANDE. And then one evening a beautiful and modest youth in blue and gold appears at my father's court, and begs that he too be allowed to try his fortune with the dragon. Pa.s.sing through the great hall on my way to my bed-chamber, I see him suddenly. Our eyes meet. . . . Oh, Jane!

JANE. Darling! . . . You ought to have lived in those days, Melisande.

They would have suited you so well.

MELISANDE. Will they never come back again?

JANE. Well, I don't quite see how they can. People don't dress in blue and gold nowadays. I mean men.

MELISANDE. No. (She sighs) Well, I suppose I shall never marry.

JANE. Of course, I'm not romantic like you, darling, and I don't have time to read all the wonderful books you read, and though I quite agree with everything you say, and of course it must have been thrilling to have lived in those wonderful old days, still here we are, and (with a wave of the hand)--and what I mean is--here we are.

MELISANDE. You are content to put romance out of your life, and to make the ordinary commonplace marriage?

JANE. What I mean is, that it wouldn't be commonplace if it was the right man. Some nice, clean-looking Englishman--I don't say beautiful--pleasant, and good at games, dependable, not very clever perhaps, but making enough money----

MELISANDE (carelessly). It sounds rather like Bobby.

JANE (confused). It isn't like Bobby, or any one else particularly.

It's just anybody. It wasn't any particular person. I was just describing the sort of man without thinking of any one in----

MELISANDE. All right, dear, all right.

JANE. Besides, we all know Bobby's devoted to _you_.

MELISANDE (firmly). Now, look here, Jane, I warn you solemnly that if you think you are going to leave me and Bobby alone together this evening---- (Voices are heard outside.) Well, I warn you.

JANE (in a whisper). Of course not, darling. (With perfect tact) And, as I was saying, Melisande, it was quite the most----Ah, here you are at last! We wondered what had happened to you!

(Enter BOBBY and MR. KNOWLE. JANE has already described BOBBY for us.

MR. KNOWLE is a pleasant, middle-aged man with a sense of humour, which he cultivates for his own amus.e.m.e.nt entirely.)

BOBBY. Were you very miserable without us? (He goes towards them.)

JANE (laughing). Very.

(MELISANDE gets up as BOBBY comes, and moves away.)

MR. KNOWLE. Where's your Mother, Sandy?

MELISANDE. In the dining-room, I think, Father.

MR. KNOWLE. Ah! Resting, no doubt. By the way, you won't forget what I said about the bread-sauce, will you?

MELISANDE. You don't want it remembered, Father, do you? What you said?

MR. KNOWLE. Not the actual words. All I want, my dear, is that you should endeavour to explain to the cook the difference between bread-sauce and a bread-poultice. Make it clear to her that there is no need to provide a bread-poultice with an obviously healthy chicken, such as we had to-night, but that a properly made bread-sauce is a necessity, if the full flavour of the bird is to be obtained.

MELISANDE. "Full flavour of the bird is to be obtained." Yes, Father.

MR. KNOWLE. That's right, my dear. Bring it home to her. A little quiet talk will do wonders. Well, and so it's Midsummer Night. Why aren't you two out in the garden looking for fairies?